The Way

by Mary E. Twomey

  “It’s the bartender’s invention. The main ingredient’s absinthe. Would you like to try one, sir?” she asked him, still not looking up.

  “What else’s in it?”

  Blue shook her head. “No one knows except the bartender, sir, but once a Vemreaux tries it, they don’t order anything else.” She tried to maintain even breathing and concentrated on fading into the background.

  “I’ll just grab one from the bar,” said Brody, his attention and body following his prey.

  “Leave some Fems for me, Brode,” Sam called to his friend. Then he turned his attention to the seemingly timid waitress and raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? You really expect us to order a drink without knowing what’s in it?” His gaze was now fully on her like a beam of hot light that made her finger twitch and her breathing hitch.

  It was simply too much. The sound of his voice was enticing beyond what her superior strength could endure. Though his words were nothing to smile at, Blue’s head lost the battle with her brain and lifted up at the sound of his alluring voice. Unbidden, her shocking eyes bored into him, begging the man to continue speaking. Of all the many voices she’d heard in her life, his was the only one that drew her in and held her captive. With wide eyes, as though he’d said something off-color, she stared at the newcomer, forgetting his question and herself.

  Slowly, everything else began to fade into the background. The loud music, the gyrating Vemreaux, the smelly food and the logic in her brain all fled from her awareness. It wasn’t black that clouded the edges of her vision, but a hazy gold blur that perfectly framed Sam’s face. The longer her eyes met his, the more unsteady her breathing became.

  “I, um,” Sam began awkwardly.

  Blue registered the equal amount of shock coming from the face she was staring into. He looked at her as if he was seeing a ghost, his gaze familiar, yet fearful. Patrons at the next table called out for her, but she could not see or hear them. She only took in the black eyes of the Vemreaux across from her, staring right back with the same blazing intensity.

  His chestnut hair had flecks of black in it, setting off the comfortably tanned skin nicely. His angular jaw did not betray a smile, only a stunned expression as he continued to stare wordlessly. Three small freckles dotted his left cheek close to his eye, setting off the symmetry of his face. When Blue’s brain processed his full lips, it was not in the calculating manner she would usually take in someone’s appearance. The way she memorized his curved mouth brought a blush to her complexion – something she’d never had difficulty suppressing until that very moment. The embarrassing heat flashed up her face and down her chest, rattling her usually unmoved heart. Her blush made her feel naked, exposed, and yet she did not run, but presented herself to his scrutiny.

  The sounds and faces surrounding her crashed back over her all at once, clueing her in to her odd behavior. Blue’s breath came in shallow pants as she broke her stare from the stranger and turned as much attention as she could back to her order pad.

  “Can I…” She ran out of breath and had to steady herself to finish the simple sentence. “…drink, sir?” She could feel the onyx eyes on her. Blue fought with every instinct that told her to take another glance in his direction.

  “Um, yeah. I’ll have a basket of chips for the table.” He folded up his menu and slid it over to her.

  “I’m sorry. We, uh, we don’t serve chips here, sir. Only fries. Will that do?” The red in her cheeks was embarrassing, and she wondered if from his place at the bar, Baird was watching her fall to pieces like Grettel would.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” He looked like he wanted to correct her about something, but decided not to.

  Instead of gazing into those deep, dark eyes that held her for far too long, she stared fixedly down at her shoes, tilting her head so that her hair safely covered large sections of her face. “Drink, sir?” was all she could manage to squeak out.

  Brody came back, tie loosened as he dropped his jacket on his chair. “She wasn’t kidding about those Green Abby shots. Amazing! I’ll have another, miss.”

  Again Sam’s clean voice came, drowning out all other noise. Her heart tugged in her chest to hear him speak for hours, even if it was just to read the menu aloud to her in his fantastic accent. “Just a beer for me, thanks. Pick your favorite.”

  “Come on, Sam. Try a shot,” Brody encouraged.

  “I don’t drink things from foreign bars I’ve never heard of,” Sam stated flatly. “Got any dipping sauces?”

  Her cheeks and chest continued to heat. Blue did not trust her voice to speak. Instead, she abruptly turned and walked to the kitchen, willing her feet not to run every step of the way.

  By the time the doors closed behind her, she could barely take in a full breath. Grettel and Stephanie were actually laughing together, and beneath her panic, Blue was happy that Grettel could be so at ease in the presence of a Femreaux. For the moment, it seemed Blue had switched roles with the timid pixie, and she did not like the shift.

  Grettel paused in the middle of her giggle and gasped. “What’s wrong?” She dropped her knife on the cutting board and ran over to the hyperventilating girl.

  Blue immediately regretted using the kitchen to hide in when she saw the short woman’s laughter snatched away and replaced by her usual fear.

  Grettel called over her shoulder to the Femreaux. “Stephanie, could you go get Baird?”

  Blue shook her head, but still couldn’t find the right words. The Vemreaux’s haunting face kept surfacing and tying her tongue whenever she tried to speak. Finally she forced out a breathy, “No, Stephanie. I’m fine. I’m just a little tired.” Blue was glad that the Femreaux seemed to accept this explanation and did not leave the kitchen for the bar.

  “You’re tired?” Grettel’s alarm only heightened at Blue’s words. “You’re tired?” she repeated slowly, the simple words confusing her. “Sit down, Blue. You’re all flushed. What’s going on?”

  Before she could answer, Stephanie chimed in. “It’s that Steve. He’s such a waste of the immortal waters. They should really raise the IQ minimum for bathing in the Fountain of Youth. Having his kind of idiocy lingering around for a hundred and twenty more years is just a punishment to the rest of us.” Stephanie continued on her rant while she wet down a washcloth and rang it out in the sink.

  Blue permitted her head to tilt all the way forward and rest on Grettel’s shoulder. She felt her hair being lifted off of her now sweating skin and a cool cloth gently placed on her neck by fingers that she judged correctly to be Stephanie’s. The cold sensation counteracted the heat in her cheeks, and as the warmth dissipated, her breathing returned to normal. An uncomfortable itch crept up her spine at being taken care of so thoroughly by the two women. Baird would not approve at the display of weakness. Blue stood up straight, with new bearings, and removed the cold cloth. “I’m sorry, guys. I don’t know what got into me. I’m fine now. Thanks.”

  Stephanie was already accepting the gratitude with a smile, but Grettel was not convinced. Never before had she seen her friend shaken like that. Her frightened eyes asked Blue if they were safe.

  Blue sighed, heaving out more tension than she realized she’d been building up. “Everything’s fine, Grettel. Really. I just overreacted out there. Nothing’s wrong at all.” She looked up at Stephanie. “I do need a basket of fries, though. Few different dipping sauces, too, I think.”

  “You think?” Grettel clarified with a wary gaze.

  “Coming right up,” Stephanie sang as she dumped a bowl of already cut potato and turnip wedges into the fryer and listened to them sizzle and pop deliciously.

  Before Grettel could say anything else, Blue stepped away from her, fixing a false smile on her face. “Really, Grettel. Don’t worry about it.” Then her eyes darted to the door to indicate Baird. “Please just drop it for now.”

  Blue exited the kitchen and let herself into the bar with Baird, being sure to keep her face hidden from him. He knew her to
o well, and would surely be able to scout out the flaws in her armor. Blue lifted a shot glass from the counter behind him and placed it on her tray. He tried to keep that counter stocked with the coveted shots for the wait staff to continuously take out to the diners.

  “Baird?” she asked from behind him. “I never really thought much about this wall of beers before. What’s a good one?” If she was to truly pick her favorite, that would mean she would have tried at least one or two to make that decision. As it was, she had never sipped alcohol before in her life.

  The hustle of the evening still hadn’t completely darkened Baird’s sunshine that came from finally making out with Elle. “Thinking of trying your hand at a drinking game?” he teased over his shoulder as he flipped a bottle of clear liquid in the air to dazzle the nearest drinkers.

  “Ha,” Blue commented tonelessly, glad to be getting her veiled personality back. “A table asked for my favorite beer. What’s my favorite beer?” she asked, taking in all the different labels.

  “Which Vem?” he inquired, his eyes scanning the room.

  For a moment, Blue debated pointing Sam out to her brother, fearing that he would see her finger shake when she lifted it. The worry was unnecessary, for she overestimated her brother’s observational skills. She nodded toward Sam without looking directly at him, though in her periphery, she could see that his black eyes were on her. The blush crept up to heat her cheeks once again.

  “Ah, the dignitaries. His friend ordered my shots, but he wants a beer? He’s a paranoid control freak,” he guessed. “Get him a Boddingtons if you want a good tip.”

  Blue blinked as she flipped through the various labels she’d just scanned in her head, resting after three seconds on a yellow can taller than most of the others. Setting the drink with a chilled tall glass on the tray next to the shot, she added eight more shots she knew another table would want on her way. She then stopped by the kitchen to add the basket of fries to the light load along with the limburger cheeseburger and trout slaw a different table requested.

  She dropped off the burger and slaw quickly; she detested the strong smell. As she passed the shots around the table of three Vemreaux and three Femreaux, she could still feel the black eyes staring at her. Summoning up her inner Elle that she pulled out in extreme circumstances, Blue relaxed her shoulders and erased her discomfort as she approached the man that made her knees weak.

  Though Elle would have said something witty and given them a dazzling smile, Blue was satisfied keeping her eyes on her tray or down at the table top as she unburdened herself by setting down the food and drinks. Inwardly she cursed her nerves as her hand shook slightly while setting the beer and glass in front of the captivating Vemreaux. Despite their relaxed conversation and smiles, something about the men seemed unnaturally cold, like they were capable of unthinkable cruelty at the drop of a hat.

  “This is your favorite beer?” Sam questioned her with disbelief.

  She had not predicted being spoken to on her selection, and for a second, her brain froze at being caught. Quickly she thought of Elle and tried to mimic her attitude. “No, it’s your favorite, sir,” she insisted, still not meeting his eyes. “W-Would you gentleman like anything off the menu tonight?” she inquired politely, masking the slight tremble in her fingers as a cramped muscle that needed to be flexed.

  “I’ll have the haggis with the grapefruit gravy,” Brody said as he handed her the menu.

  “This isn’t what I ordered.” Sam held up the can of Boddingtons as a visual to his complaint. “I asked for your favorite beer, not mine.”

  Blue kept her eyes averted to her order pad and shook her head. “Um, I’ll get you what I drink, sir, but you won’t like it.” She was amazed at how even her voice sounded and how confident the words seemed. Elle would have been proud. “Anything to eat while you don’t drink your favorite beer, s-sir?” she asked, a traitor crack breaking up her cool tone.

  Sam continued to stare into her, silently begging her to meet his gaze one more time, but she refused. She was not willing to be so shaken again in the presence of so many witnesses. “The fettuccini with the clam sauce. How long is that aged? Menu didn’t say.”

  Brody rolled his black eyes. “Really? Does it matter? Every time we go anywhere, you have to be so picky.” He folded his forearms over his chest and sighed with frustration. “Josephine can’t cook you every meal, you know.”

  “The clams are aged three months, sir.”

  Sam scoured the description on the menu. “What about the cream?”

  “That’s only aged to curdling, thinned with fresh buttermilk.”

  He set his menu down and eyed her. “What does it come with?”

  “It comes with a side of either trout slaw or fries.”

  Sam touched his index finger across the crest of his lower lip, drawing her eyes like a beacon. “What can you tell me about the trout slaw?” he asked, now combing the menu for any other questions he could throw at her.

  “I’m literally dying over here,” Brody complained. “Barely ate lunch, and that was hours ago. I’m starving! Quit being a woman and pick something!”

  Blue had to take a deep breath before answering. She did not want his effect on her to be known. “The trout’s aged only a month, but in the sun, so it speeds the process along. The mayonnaise isn’t aged at all.” She was impressed that she could regurgitate the bits of information she’d gained from food packages and passing through the kitchen so speedily.

  The two Vemreaux stared at her with their mouths open. Finally Brody turned to Sam and jerked his thumb in Blue’s direction. “Marry her.” Then he looked up at Blue, whose face was still hidden. “Thank you! Thank you!” he praised her, hands pressed together. “Usually takes literally ten trips back and forth from the kitchen before this one gets all his questions answered.” Brody downed the liquid in the tiny glass in front of him. “Oh, man! That’s an amazing shot. Whoa! See ya, Sam. I’ll be dancing with the Fem I’m taking back to the hotel tonight.”

  The unbidden blush swept over her body again as Sam looked up at her. She cursed her fallibility at not being able to control such a simple reaction. She was grateful for the lower lights, but knew that some of her vulnerability had to be visible to Sam’s unrelenting stare. Her legs felt like jelly, and the butterflies turned vicious in her stomach. She wished he would order so that she could escape, but he seemed to be purposefully drawing out the answer she already knew he’d give.

  “I think I’ll have…hmm…yeah, that sounds good. With the trout slaw.” He held his menu by the side instead of the base, and Blue did not look up as she took it from him. Her hand reached out to retrieve the menu, and as she did so, the tips of her pointer and middle fingers barely brushed up against his.

  Though this was the third time, she did not predict the jolt of unmistakable electricity that shot up her arm and rippled through her body at his whisper of a touch. The shock produced a tiny yelp from her lips that sounded so like Grettel, she was instantly ashamed.

  They both dropped the menu on the table as they stared at each other in surprise. Her eyes locked on his. She watched as he drank in every crevice and curve of her face, all pretense of confidence and superiority gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Violent Butterflies

  Maintaining composure was now a wasted effort if he was going to play games like this, she steamed, jumping to the only logical conclusion. Narrowing her gaze into a glare, Blue snatched up the menu and stomped off, not caring that he looked stunned and not at all guilty, as she thought he should.

  As she disappeared into the kitchen, she shook her head angrily that some Vemreaux played such tricks on Waywards. She wondered how small the device was that he’d used to give her the shock. It escaped her keen vision completely, but explained why she’d been off-kilter ever since the first electrified contact.

  Slapping the order on the hook for the cooks, she examined the fingers that received the charge to add up the damage.
Surely if there were marks left on her fingers, Baird would notice immediately and scold her for being careless. How could she have known about such a mechanism? None of the others ever mentioned it to her. Perhaps it was a foreign weapon or something still in the trial phases. Luckily, her fingers appeared unscathed. Blue fumed, her sheepishness gone as she exited the kitchen to wait on other tables.

  Though she tried not to, her eyes darted up of their own accord to the dreaded table. The two Vemreaux were joined by a pair of overly made-up Femreaux that Blue had seen in the bar before. One was fawning over Sam and the other was tossing her hair and laughing at something apparently hilarious that Brody said. Blue’s anger increased at the stupidity of these women. There they were, throwing themselves at the dignitaries all because they were rich and good looking. Very good looking. The jerk.

  The tousle-haired Sam looked away from the flirting Fem and turned his head to stare at Blue, his gaze questioning her sudden mood change. Insecurity washed through her as she sized up his expression. It certainly didn’t match what she expected of an evil man. He appeared confused and concerned. The corner of his mouth lifted into a small, slanted smile directed only at her, completely bypassing the Femreaux hanging on his arm and whispering in his ear.

  Blue almost cursed aloud as the blush betrayed her once again. Hurriedly, she ducked her head and waited on the next table, taking the glower she wanted to point toward Sam and using it to scold herself instead.

  A growing line at the hostess stand left Blue to believe that Steve was taking yet another break. Spiting him by seating them in his section was just a bonus; there really were no empty tables in her section, and she didn’t know how long they’d have to wait for Steve to seat them.

  “Where’s that lazy Vemreaux?” she asked the girls in the kitchen with more of an edge in her voice than she usually allowed. “Steve’s not on the floor again and he’s got tables waiting for him.”

  Stephanie tattled on him by jerking her thumb over her shoulder to the back door, indicating that he was, in fact, taking yet another break. Blue wanted desperately to march out the door and drag him back in by the collar of his shirt to give him a good thrashing, but she knew that might be slightly conspicuous.