Page 69 of The Shade of Things
“That’s my worry. What do you think?” I asked Eli. He had the most experience and formal training in assessing threats.
“I really don’t like that we ran out of gas here,” he said. “On the other hand, we’re more vulnerable in this van with all the windows than in that building without any.” He rubbed his now-stubbled head. Combined with the five-o’clock shadow he’d grown, Detective Chu had a much more menacing air than usual. He studied the club, his jaw tight. “Laurent, can you detect if anyone is in there before we enter?”
“No problem.”
“Then if it’s clear, we’ll stay there until we figure out our next move.”
We all headed inside, packs in hand since the van was now unusable.
The night air was cooler here than it had been in the downtown core, but it was also refreshing after the claustrophobic anxiety permeating the ride over.
Laurent beckoned us from the stairs. “We’re good.”
It was a run-down space with a few rickety tables, scuffed black concrete floors, and grungy walls, and the game designers had tried to distract from the low-rent vibe with a frenzy of strobing lights.
I coughed, waving away the sickly-sweet fog swirling out from machines sitting next to the speakers, and headed for the fully stocked bar. Bland electronica rumbled up through the soles of my feet.
There was no one else here other than the van passengers: no waitstaff, no bouncers, no bartenders.
“Our time-out,” Isla said to me. “Just as you predicted.”
Emmett slipped behind the bar. “Step right up, ladies and gents.”
Daw got there first. “Beer.”
I dropped my pack on a stool and leaned over the counter to find Emmett with his head in a bar fridge.
He emerged with a bottle streaked with ice-cold condensation and handed it to Daw.
“Attends,” Laurent said. “Let me examine all food and drink and see if I detect anything.”
Daw flicked off the cap and held it out.
The shifter carefully sniffed it. “It seems okay, but they might have used an odorless poison.” He managed to convey his doubts to Daw.
“We shouldn’t drink,” I said.
“You said it yourself,” Isla replied. “They terrorize us then give us a time-out. Why? No idea. But that seems to be the pattern, even if it’s bloody awful. I can’t see a point in poisoning us before the game’s over.” Daw held up her bottle with a questioning look and Isla sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
The Thai woman shrugged and took a long swallow of beer. “Very good,” she said with a smile.
That broke the others’ indecision and they rushed the bar, putting in their own orders.
All except Eli, who did a perimeter check and announced there were no other exits. Foreswearing the booze, he settled himself at a table with some beef jerky and bottled water from his pack.
Laurent pronounced Isla’s wine and Okeyo’s bourbon free and clear. Teresa opted for a Coke, saying she didn’t like alcohol, but Laurent insisted on sniff testing it as well.
Isla had pushed tables up to Eli’s. She and Daw were collecting all the pretzel bowls and depositing them on the group table. Laurent came over briefly to examine them, then headed back to the bar.
I nabbed a stool between Eli and Okeyo and placed my hand on the Black man’s shoulder.
“Don’t feel guilty for surviving,” I said.
“I should have done more.” He poured two healthy fingers of bourbon into his glass and guzzled it back.
“There was nothing you could have done.” I coughed. The dance floor fog was cloying.
“You managed,” he said. “What was that thing? A familiar?”
