Val smiled. “I think it’s going to work out, Your Majesty.”
The queen’s voice bubbled. “It will change the criminal justice system across all realms if it does.”
The queen’s words echoed in Val’s mind that evening. She sat in the office at the Iron Fist, squinting at their new website as she read the content their copywriter had recently emailed to the bar’s official address.
“‘Hip?’” she muttered, highlighting the word. “Who says that anymore?”
She typed a feedback comment, then took a break to stretch her aching neck. Two hours at a desk had given her a sore back.
“Stupid thing,” she grumbled.
She gazed through the open door, watching the bustling trade her business enjoyed tonight. Only a few seats at the bar were unoccupied. Enzo and Tetra hurried from the dishwasher to the bar and back. Jeff stood at the door, hands folded, impassive despite his watchful gaze.
Val tilted her head, her attention piqued. Jeff usually sat at the bar with a club soda, a solid but inconspicuous presence. Has he caught a vibe from this crowd?
She scanned the bar again, looking for a potential threat, and spotted potential victims instead. Three girls sat separately at the bar, drooping over the polished wood with the characteristic floppiness of the inebriated. They giggled through their smudged makeup. Val couldn’t see below their ribs, but their bare shoulders and daring necklines were evident.
Enzo stormed into the office. “Val!” He stopped. “What?”
“Those girls at the bar.” Val nodded toward them. “I was thinking that this world is screwed up.”
“Why?” Enzo asked.
“Because being a skimpily dressed drunk girl out in public shouldn’t make you a target,” Val muttered, “but they are.”
Enzo sighed. “I know. That’s what Jeff’s here for, though. You are here to get that website live.”
“I know, I know.” Val returned her attention to the screen. “Did you come in here to yell that at me?”
“I wanted to know if you’d like a cold beer,” Enzo muttered reproachfully.
“Sorry. Sleep deprivation makes me cranky. I’d love one,” Val told him.
Enzo yelled a suggestion over his shoulder as he left the office. “You should form a team to help you on assignments like this one.”
I work alone, Val thought, then chided herself for being a drama queen.
Movement caught the edge of her vision, and she raised her chin to watch the bar again. A guy wearing a gray hoodie despite the roaring fire moved past one of the three girls, slipping something into his pocket.
Val frowned. “What are you up to, dude?”
She watched as the guy kept moving, sliding through the thick crowd around the bar. No one in the throng noticed him—especially not the next girl, who gleefully grabbed a large beer from Enzo’s tray. She gulped, dropping the fluid in the glass a few inches, then set it on the bar at her elbow.
Gray Hoodie ducked past so quickly that Val barely saw the movement of his hand—a swift dart from his pocket to her glass.
Val tensed, then rose so quickly that the desk chair slammed into the back wall. Jeff raised his chin, trying to see over the crowd. The girl raised the beer to her lips again.
“Hey!” Tetra’s strident tone cut through the clamor. “Asshole!”
The faerie strode to the drunk girl and snatched the beer glass from her hand.
“Yeah, you in the gray hoodie!” Tetra barked. “I’m talking to you.”
Gray Hoodie froze. Val moved to the door, one hand near her dagger, and waited to see how the scene would play out.
“No one at the bar should take a single sip of your drinks!” Tetra thundered, jabbing a finger in the asshole’s direction. “He’s spiking them!”
Gray Hoodie whirled and strode to the bar, shoved the protesting drunk girl aside, and waved a fist at Tetra. “Be careful what you say, bitch. You can’t make accusations like that.”
Tetra strutted a step nearer. “Watch me.”
Gray Hoodie’s eyes narrowed. “Relax, everyone. She’s crazy. I didn’t do a thing.”
“Uh-huh?” Tetra thrust the beer glass in his face. “Drink this, then, if there’s nothing in it.”
The guy sneered and slapped the glass out of her hand. It shattered on the floor amid a pool of foaming beer. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Yeah?” Tetra raised her chin. “Fight me, asswipe.”
Jeff pushed through the crowd too late. Gray Hoodie lunged and grabbed Tetra by the front of her Iron Fist golf shirt, but she moved like a snake. One second, he thought he had her. The next, her hand closed around his throat, and she lifted him to his tippy toes, fingers digging into his windpipe. His roar of anger became a terrified squeak, and he gripped her wrists with both hands.
“Tell me whose drinks you spiked,” Tetra snarled, tugging him across the bar.
“Go...screw...yourself,” the guy wheezed.
Tetra slammed his head on the bar. It bounced with the sharp crack of bone on wood, and he slid to the floor, groaning.
