“It says, ‘Stay out of this.’” Val turned to them. “Could this have something to do with your tires being slashed last week?”
Blair and Yuka exchanged a glance.
“Maybe it’s something to do with that dwarf who attacked Nadia Stewart for being a human and wearing dwarf-made jewelry,” Raven suggested. “I mean, he’s in custody, but he might have had accomplices. Maybe others are against you guys selling dwarf-made beer to humans.”
“I don’t think so.” Blair sighed, shoulders sagging. “Yuka, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Yuka murmured.
“It is my fault,” Blair insisted, his voice breaking. “I should have taken it much more seriously.”
Val raised her chin. “Taken what more seriously?”
Blair ran a hand over the enviable mass of red braids that covered his scalp. “Threats,” he admitted.
“They’re not exactly threats.” Yuka wiped tears and blood from her cheek. “Well, we didn’t think so until now.”
“What happened?” Val demanded.
“Anvil Brewery has grown enough that it poses serious competition to other breweries supplying beer to bars in Brooklyn,” Blair explained. “Our beer’s good, but it’s also cheap. Thanks to our magic, we can produce high-quality craft beer at a much lower cost than human-owned companies.”
“Like BrewCorp,” Yuka muttered.
Raven raised her eyebrows. “’BrewCorp?’”
“It’s a large beer company that sell ‘craft beers,’ although the ‘craft’ part is debatable.” Blair grimaced. “It’s mass-produced stuff. Nothing like ours.”
“Marketed as craft beer, though,” Yuka muttered.
“Anyway, they supply many bars in Brooklyn, including the Iron Fist before you switched to us.” Blair sighed. “We’re hurting their business, that is for sure, and they don’t like it.”
“What threats have you received?” Raven asked.
Yuka touched the scar on her forehead.
“Nothing...definitive,” Blair admitted. “We’ve run into the CEO at conferences and events. He always says stuff like, ‘You’re messing with the wrong company’ and ‘You’ll be sorry you’re stealing our customers.’ I thought he was just being an asshole.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s a bigger asshole than we thought,” Yuka murmured.
“Does he drive a silver Lexus ES?” Val asked.
Blair ran a hand over his beard. “I’ve seen him in many different cars. Maybe.”
“Did any of you see him throw the brick through the window?” Raven asked.
Val shook her head.
“None of us,” Blair confirmed.
“Then human law might not prosecute him. I’m not familiar with it, but this sounds like an NYPD matter. We’ll run the plate and see what we can find out, but Eternity Law doesn’t allow us to go after humans in any but the most extreme circumstances,” Raven explained. “Either way, I suggest you take those threats seriously.”
“Yeah.” Val crossed her arms. “Start by hiring me.”
Yuka and Blair glanced at each other.
“I’m sorry, baby.” Blair hung his head. “I should have listened to you. I should have kept you safe,” he added, his voice cracking.
“Hey, man, it’s not your fault.” Val lowered a hand to his shoulder. “You would never have put Yuka in harm’s way. You didn’t know.”
“I need help to keep her safe.” Blair raised frightened blue eyes to Val’s.
“To keep both of us safe,” Yuka stressed.
“Don’t worry, guys.” Val smiled. “I got you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Val stretched as far as Genevieve’s driver’s side footwell would allow. Her stiff joints protested as she glanced at the clock on the dash. 16:48. She’d been sitting outside Anvil Brewery for nearly nine hours.
She stifled a yawn and scanned the street for the thousandth time. It was tight and narrow, with factories and warehouses crowding the thin strip of asphalt and graffiti splashed on the walls. Apart from the litter and the odd car or truck rumbling by, the street had been empty all day, and none of the vehicles that passed were familiar. Val and Genevieve had been parked in the brewery’s loading bay all day.
Val rubbed her tired eyes, then focused on the street again. This day had been the same as the past three—dead boring. In the bodyguard business, boring was good. She tried to ignore the tension in her cramped muscles.
An engine’s rumble caught her attention. She stared intently into the rearview mirror, a hand straying toward her dagger. A car purred down the street, but it was not a silver Lexus. A red hatchback puttered past, its single occupant squinting at the phone in the windshield bracket like he was trying to figure out where his GPS had taken him this time.
Val tilted her head. “Red hatchback,” she muttered. “Where have we seen that before, Gennie?”
Genevieve’s gear lever moved into reverse and pointed north at the Iron Fist.
