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The Wayfarer was jammed. Derrick Means, my werebadger bartender, was shooting out drinks as fast as the orders came in. He was working out really well. Derrick was talented, sober, and able to take care of troublemakers. And he knew how to use a shotgun.
Almost every booth was filled, and as I looked around, I wondered when we’d gone from being a moderately successful bar to a happening spot. “Vampire,” by People in Planes, was playing on the jukebox, and several people were dancing.
As I took a closer look, I realized that there were a number of vamps in my bar. We served bottled blood—animal—for them, but I hadn’t been very popular among the bloodsucker set and I blinked. When did this happen? I’d been so busy, I’d lost track of what was going on here. And then, as I passed through, waving at people, I heard their whisperings.
Roman’s consort—she’s here.
She doesn’t look like much. I wonder what Roman sees in her.
Look at those eyes—you can tell she wasn’t ever human.
I hear she’s a lesbian—
No, she’s bi. I bet Roman gets to fuck her and her girlfriend.
So that was it. Somehow I’d gained status—of whatever sort—because of Roman, and it was starting to play out in the bar. The continual ring of the cash register told me just how well we were doing, and as I took my place behind the bar with Derrick, he gave me a quick nod.
“Meni—we need more help.” He had five orders in front of him and I took over two of them.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I flipped a bottle in the air and caught it, pouring three straight shots of whiskey. As I set them on the tray for Chrysandra, she shook her head.
“We not only need a second bartender, but we need at least two more waitresses if this keeps up. Afternoon shift isn’t too bad, but man, around five or six, the joint’s started to jump.” She slid the tray onto her hand and wove through the milling throng, deftly keeping her balance.
I worked quickly, taking the pressure off Derrick. “As I said, why didn’t you guys tell me?”
“You’ve been busy, and we know that it’s something big, though I’m not sure what it is. But this started about three weeks ago. I’m not sure what spurred the increase, but the Wayfarer is one of the hot spots now. And every room in the bed-and-breakfast end is booked up for the next four months. We’ve got reservations from OW up the wazoo.” Derrick grunted and handed out another tray to Lena, a waitress I’d hired to help out topside, with room service for our overnight guests. I saw that they’d drafted her to the floor.
“Shit, I don’t have time to interview. Derrick, you know anybody who’s good, who needs a job?”
But even as I asked, a dark, swarthy vamp sidled up to the counter. “Roman says you might have some work for me?”
I’d never seen him before. “Who are you?”
“I work in Roman’s household, and he suggested you might be able to use my talents. I’ve been bartending since 1885.”
I snorted. “You don’t look a day over forty.”
He flashed his fangs, but there was a glint of laughter in his eye. “Good thing I was only forty-three when I was turned, and not eighty. I probably would have stepped into the sun if that had been the case.”
I glanced over at Derrick. “You think you can work with another vamp around here? He’d have to be with you on the night shift.”
Derrick shrugged as he poured out three martinis. “I’m the lead bartender, right? I’ve worked here for a while.”
“Yes, you’re the lead.” I glanced back at the vamp. “What’s your name? And you do know that I can—and will—check with Roman to make sure you’re telling the truth.”
He inclined his head. “You won’t find anything amiss. My name is Digger.”
I set down the bottle of schnapps I was about to pour. “Digger? Really?”
“I worked for a stint as a gravedigger in the twenties. Before that my name was Joe, but Digger stuck. And the Were need not worry. I won’t try to steal his place, and I won’t put the fang on him.” Digger glanced around. “I can start right now.”
“You don’t even know how much I’d be paying you.” I didn’t like being pushed, and it felt like he was pushing. But if Roman wanted him working here, I’d have to at least consider it.
“Roman said he’d pick up the tab for my work.” Again the fangy smile.
“Oh, he did, did he? I pay my own tabs,” I muttered, but Digger still caught it.
“Roman doesn’t want the increase in business to unnerve your staff. Think of my work here as a gift. A present.”
