Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Author Notes Renée Jaggér

Books from Renée

Books By Michael Anderle

Connect with the authors

CHAPTER ONE

The hubbub in the bar off Continental Army Plaza was almost loud enough to drown out the music. Ancient and reedy, the tunes struggled to compete with the conversations in the small, well-lit, warm space.

Val Stonehold recognized the song since she’d grown up with it. The Song of the Glorious celebrated the fallen heroes of the Battle of New Camelot, but few of the young, hip humans in the bar would realize that. They didn’t know that New Camelot or the dwarves who had died defending it had existed.

It’s a weird world, Val reflected. Two weird worlds, actually.

She raised the tray of beers above her head to make room for her partner in running the Iron Fist. Enzo ducked under her arms, clutching a tray of empty glasses.

“Thanks,” he yelled.

“Should we turn up the music?” Val shouted.

Enzo grimaced. “It’s already at the max!”

Val nodded and hurried to the bar, where a thick crowd of impatient patrons waited. Unlike her, most were human. They eagerly grabbed the dwarf-made IPA from the tray, laughing and talking. Several were very animated after a couple of beers.

The group backed away but didn’t sit down since the seats were full. A second crowd pressed against the bar, all elves. Their glamours hid their pointed ears and unrealistic beauty from the humans.

“What can I get you?” Val bellowed over the din.

“Three Iron IPAs.” An elf grinned. “What else? It’s your best!”

Val smiled, in too much of a rush to accept the compliment, and hustled to the back of the bar. Enzo feverishly unloaded the dishwasher, which filled the crowded space with steam.

“Can you believe this is just another Wednesday night?” Val asked.

Enzo grimaced, displaying his tusks. “We wanted more business.”

“We sure got it. I’m not complaining,” Val assured him, “I only wish Dante had more availability.”

“Kid’s got so many extra classes this semester, he barely has time to eat.”

“Poor guy. I’m glad he’s focusing on school.” Val chuckled. “I’m just worried about what we’ll do when I get a new bodyguarding contract from the queen.”

Enzo gave her a despairing look. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“We do need to think about it,” Val told him gently. “Basically, we need a bartender.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Enzo muttered, stacking dirty glasses in the dishwasher.

Despite the frost outside, Val was sweating as she grabbed three clean glasses, wiped them dry, and turned to the keg of Iron IPA on the shelf.

She turned the tap, but only a sad dribble of beer appeared.

“Oh, shit.” Val turned to Enzo. “Isn’t this our last keg?”

“It’s gone already? Feels like I fetched it two minutes ago!” Enzo protested.

Val grimaced. “Yuka and Blair should be here any minute. I can fill these three, but the foam won’t be the same.”

Enzo grabbed a jug from the shelves. “I’ll make that happen. You call Yuka and find out where they are. We need that delivery now!”

Val set the tray on the dishwasher and stepped into the tiny office behind the bar to make the call. With the door closed, the quiet was soothing. She thought about the underground smithy at home in Bay Ridge, and longing flooded her.

No time for that now. She dialed Yuka Marniq’s number and raised the phone to her ear.

Yuka answered quickly. “Hey, Val! Let me guess. You’re out of beer?”

“You got it. Are you guys far out?” Val asked.

Distantly, Yuka’s partner Blair asked, “They’re out again?”

Yuka laughed. “Blair’s shocked that you’ve finished the beer.”

“Girl, people love that IPA. Enzo’s serving our last few drops as we speak,” Val told her.

“Don’t worry. We’re turning onto the plaza now,” Yuka assured her to the background grumble of a truck engine. “Meet us at the back door.”

“Perfect timing.” Val hung up and popped her head through the office door. “They’re here, Enzo!”

“Help them unload. Jeff!” Enzo barked. “I need a hand behind the bar.”

Their bouncer, an amiable human, shoved through the crowd and joined Enzo in serving drinks. Val left them to it and passed through the back door into the crisp night. The last echo of winter hung in the air and traced frigid fingertips over the windows and gutters, leaving a sprinkling of frost.

Val regretted leaving her coat inside. The plaza was quiet, apart from the steady stream of people entering and exiting the bar. A homeless person huddled on a bench near the statue of George Washington, whoever he had been, in the middle of the plaza. Two rough-looking kids kicked a can down the street. A guy smoking on the corner eyed Val. She gently caressed the dagger's hilt on her hip, and he hastily looked away.

The Anvil Brewery truck came around the corner with a sputter of diesel fumes. Its black paintwork gleamed under the streetlights, and a locked rolling door hid the bounty within. Only Val and other paras could see its second set of plates, which shimmered ethereal blue. The plates came from Avalon Town. The white Anvil logo was splashed across the hood and both doors.

With a hiss of air brakes, the truck halted a few feet from Val. “Not a moment too soon,” she called.

A Copper Dwarf, red hair and matching beard stylishly trimmed, swung down from the driver’s seat. His head barely reached Val’s ribs. “You’ve got a lot of thirsty people in there.”