Chương 13: Show Me What You’re Working With

After loading our haul in the inn, both of us quickly rushed into action. I juiced citrus, started my oleo saccharum, and began mixing up punch. Sampling a bit of the raw alcohol gave me a better idea of what we were working with. Pure jet fuel. That stuff could likely melt steel beams if it caught fire. It could probably strip the paint off my insides, and I didn't even have any paint in there. But beyond the bracing, aggressive heat, I noted something I could work with. There was an odd sweetness to the hooch.

And with it, a grassy vegetable quality as well. Actually, it reminded me a bit of rhum agricole, or even cachaça or pisco. I knew how to handle those.

"Drew, I need you!" Wynnie's voice carried through the kitchen door into the bar.

"It's happening again!" I dropped what I was doing.

"Be right there!" For the fourth time that morning, I rushed through the door and helped Wynnie rekindle the dying fire. How anyone could let a flame die in a woodstove was beyond me. Somehow, she managed to do it every ten or fifteen minutes. I added another small log and blew on the red-hot embers until it caught flame. Wynnie stood back and watched appreciatively. Her cheeks flushed.

"You came to save me again. My hero." I flashed a cheeky grin.

"That's what I'm supposed to do, right? I mean, Reborn come to the rescue, yeah?"

"That's why I keep you around. That and because you're, uh..." Her eyes started downward, as though she suddenly suspected a rat was nearby. Her plump lip dimpled as she chewed on it nervously.

"I mean, you know why I keep you around."

"Because I'm so handsome and charming?" I quipped. She looked at me, almost panicked.

"That's not what I said!" Suddenly, I realized that I'd broken an unspoken rule. No, that wasn't what she said, but it was exactly what she meant. No amount of backtracking would get me out of this one. Instead, I had to lean into it, damn the consequences.

"Don't worry. I think you're handsome and charming too. It's not weird if it's mutual, right?"

"I'm not handsome." She giggled despite herself. I didn't love the self-deprecating humor, but— "I'm cute."

"Very cute," I agreed. We stood there for a beat, letting the truth settle into the kitchen around us.

"Now don't hesitate to call on me again if the fire dies."

"You mean when the fire dies?" I laughed.

"Honestly, I almost think you're doing this on purpose. There's no other explanation for why you can't keep that stove going."

"So what if I am? How else can I get you to come running to my side?" She winked. Shit. Were we flirting? As just friends? Of course we were. But was it a problem? If it was, it wasn't a big one. We were both enjoying ourselves. And it was pointless to pretend that we didn't find each other attractive. Part of figuring things out was just making sure that our drunken kiss was real. I wanted to make sure that what we had actually meant something.

And the more I got to know Wynnie, the more I was certain that she deserved someone who could truly care for her. I just hoped I could be that person. There was one last thing to do before we let dinner simmer and sampled drinks while painting. With our bounty of sour citrus, I'd gotten in the zone. It was an old bartender's habit. Autopilot with mechanical precision. Peel, cut, juice, discard. Repeat until the vessel is full or there's nothing left.

Point is, I had way too much grapefruit juice left over, and the punch didn't need nearly that much. We had the fixings for Greyhounds. Screwdrivers would probably sell better, but we had what we had. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. While Wynnie banged into pots and cursed in the kitchen, I decided to make it official. We needed a menu. Even if all we had were two drinks, it would make the place feel like a proper bar.

With a quill and paper I found on the messy pile of papers at the front desk, I wrote: Cocktail Drink Menu: Greyhound………. 2c Punch……………. 3c I hoped that "c" meant copper here, or else I'd look like a fool. On the other hand, my handwriting was wobbly and barely legible, so I probably looked like a fool anyway. It wasn't even like I could blame the quill, which wasn't as easy as a pen. No, I'd always had unreadable chicken scratch.

Also, I'd started writing Cocktail Menu, but worried that the word Cocktail would be one more thing I'd have to explain. Instead, I crossed it out and wrote Drink. Regardless, I was proud to have a menu. I couldn't wait to show Wynnie. The door swung in, and… It was the wrong door. We'd put the sign out that said we were closed for the day. Who would be so bold? Radiant skin sparkled almost as bright as the patchwork plate covering it. Lady Talia looked around, brows knitted together tightly in concern.

They didn't un-knit upon seeing me.

"Lady Talia! Is this about the docks earlier? Because I can assure you…" I trailed off, suddenly at a loss about what I could assure her of. Yet she shook her head quickly, crossing the room and closing the distance. She exuded lawful retribution from every perfect, invisible pore. Somehow, I got the impression she wanted to arrest someone.

"I'm here to arrest someone." Call it a natural 20 on insight.

"Me?"

"No, you ninny. A girl. Woman. A… a scoundrel. She's about yay high—" she leveled her hand right about shoulder height on her, which was maybe a hair over five feet, "and deep purple, like a… like a…"

"Like a Japanese eggplant?" I knew it was stupid as soon as I said it. A beat passed, yet surprisingly, she shrugged it off. Not a single question about Japan.

"Actually, maybe not too deep of a purple. A bit more violet," Lady Talia corrected herself. I nodded sagely.

"Oh, so more like a Chinese eggplant." Clearly, I hadn't learned my lesson. Nevertheless, no questions about China, either. Maybe there were as many eggplants here as there were on Earth. Maybe she was afraid to admit she didn't know the different kinds of eggplants.

"Anyway, did she come in here? She's hiding somewhere, I just know it. Hard to mistake her, since, you know."

"Deep violet purple skin?" I guessed.

"Yes, that. And thin little tail. And horns." I raised my eyebrows. She sounded like a devil of some kind. Were devils automatically evil here? Either way, it was best to stay on Lady Talia's good side.

"I'll keep my eye out for horny women in my area," I promised, suddenly wishing I could click a simple pop-up to find her. Those porn sites made it sound so easy.

"Thanks." The stern dragonkin turned to leave, then stopped herself. She peered intently past me at the bar counter where I'd been prepping.

"What's a Greyhound?"

"Oh, it's a cocktail."

"What's a cocktail?" I sighed, yet felt immediately vindicated for crossing the word out on my menu.

"It's an alcoholic beverage made by mixing juices, sugars, and other ingredients. Think of it as a dessert that gets you tipsy." I was expecting judgment. Instead, I got curiosity. She drifted closer.

"Interesting. And you plan to sell these cocktails here?"

"I think they'll be a hit," I answered honestly.

"What are they made with? What do they taste like? How many can you have before they get you drunk?" Each question came faster than the last, and she caught herself after the third.

"Erm. For professional curiosity, of course."

"Of course. Wouldn't want vagrants and ne'er-do-wells sleeping in the streets."

"Or ditches." For a few seconds, the two of us shared a comfortable, companionable silence. Something like an amused smirk passed back and forth before she got serious again. Her eyes roamed around the interior of the inn.

"So, you're working here now? Trying to make improvements?"

"I'll stick around as long as she'll have me, yeah. I'm going to help her try to turn the place around." She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"That's good. This inn has history in our town. It deserves better." She fixed me with a warning look.

"Wynnie deserves better than the hand she's been dealt, too. If you're running some kind of con…"

"I wouldn't dare! Wynnie's a treasure. I want nothing but the best for her, I promise. I really, really like her." Lady Talia shrugged nonchalantly and swaggered back a step. Even without any significant sources of light in the inn, her armor shined fiercely. She wrinkled her nose.

"What's that smell?" We had nearly four gallons of weapons-grade, backwoods still drippin's behind the bar.

"Probably the lighter fluid Gus-Gus tried to pass off as alcohol."

"No, it's not that. It's more chemical. With a hint of," she sniffed again, "a magical charm?"

"Oh. Paint. For the outside." More surprise. It brightened her features, making her look less, well, angry. Underneath all that hardass bluster, she really was quite striking.

"You're painting the place, too?"

"I mean, yeah. If I'm gonna stay here, I might as well do it right. I was serious about wanting to have a positive impact here." My declaration was met with a satisfied nod. Her snakelike pupils regarded me with renewed interest. It looked like another question was caught just behind her lips, but she swallowed it. Instead, she let out a breath and made her way back to the door. With her hand on the knob, she paused.

"I might've misjudged you." She was really chewing on whatever came next.

"Maybe I'll come back sometime. Try one of your cocktails. Say hi."

"I'd like that." I said it before I could even realize that I meant it. Wynnie emerged seconds after Lady Talia left. She dusted her hands off on her dress as though it were a cheap kitchen apron. To be fair, it looked like one. Flour, soot, and a new stain coated the front.

"Stew's on the stove. Got some leftover bread warming nearby. Did you want to start painting today?" I grinned, excited to make more changes to the place.

"Definitely. How hard can it be?"