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Avi grabbed a piece of laminated paper and slid it across the bar to her. “Here, it’s the menu. I can make you whatever you want.”
Naia’s reservations faded into the background as her curiosity took hold, causing her to crane her neck to read the delicate font.
Several items were completely unknown to her. The list of beers and upscale descriptions of sandwiches. One thing caught her eye, though. A mortal delicacy she had yet to try.
“The pancakes sound appealing.”
Specifically titled: The Hangover Pancakes—honey-batter pancakes served with mixed berry compote, whipped butter, and cinnamon maple syrup. The inside of her mouth salivated from the description alone.
“Nice,” Avi nodded casually. “What about a beer? We’ve got a good grapefruit IPA on tap that would pair fucking fantastic with it. It’s also Ronin’s favorite.”
Feeling at ease, Naia pulled the stool out from under the counter and sank into it. “Sure. Though I have no idea what an IPA is.”
He walked around the adjunct wall. She could hear him clinking around what sounded to be dishware and metal utensils.
“India Pale Ale. It’s a type of beer. Give me a sec and I’ll get it for you.”
She kept a close listen to his movements. A cracking of an egg, the scraping of dough mixing in a bowl, sizzling of meat on a stovetop. The salty-sweet smell was like a dream.
Naia swept her eyes around the room at all the empty tables. Prior to getting out of Ronin’s car, it was a quarter after eight in the morning.
“When does the brewery open?” she asked.
Avi reemerged with an empty glass in hand. Stamped on the front was the same foxglove flower insignia outside above the entrance. “Ten-ish for brunch and then we close until five. I’m still pissed I got stuck working the goddamn taproom tonight.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she asked.
He stopped in front of a specific lever on the wall in front of her and filled it to the brim with frothy, butter-colored liquid. “Since it’s a Saturday, yeah. Weekends are always busy in the city because everyone has off from work.”
Naia gaped down at the topped-off glass as he placed it in front of her, the foam threatening to spill over the rim.
“It’s all Theon’s fault,” he continued. “He worked at HQ all week while Ronin was away. Bastard thought it would be hilarious to make me slave away in the brew room, cleaning mildew shit tubes for three days, and then sticking me in the taproom during our busiest nights.”
She held her glass to her lips. “Sounds rough.”
Naia was unsure about his terms and the exact nature of cleaning tubes, but she could deduce they were currently in the taproom, and he was responsible for serving food and beer to customers.
One sip of beer turned into draining her glass in a matter of minutes. The tangy, carbonated beverage filled her belly and warmed her blood. She licked her lips and politely asked for another glass as the sweet aroma of her pancakes filled the air.
Avi tottered back and forth between the kitchen to flip them and the counter to continue ranting about this so-called Theon person.
The conversation transitioned into the week he was having, how he pulled a muscle in his calf during his last gym session, and how bummed he was that he’d ran out of storage on his phone. Avi seemed acutely aware of Naia’s lousy head nods and two worded replies of, oh yeah, or that sucks. Regardless, he persisted with his ramblings.
Naia had never been more grateful when he delivered her pancakes.
It turned out Avi was correct—the beer complimented her sweet, battered bread and crisp bacon perfectly.
Naia barely listened to him as she ate, deciding if she was found and dragged back to Kaimana again, this meal would’ve been worth all her troubles of escaping.
She licked the stickiness of the syrup and grease off her lips and washed down another bite with the last swig of her beer.
As she wiped her fingers on her napkin, she silently observed Avi. Resting against the counter, he absentmindedly spun the ring on his index finger with his thumb. Only a few short minutes had passed since he fell silent.
He read something on the screen of the technological device that Ronin swiped through earlier.
Sixty-forty of the population, Ronin’s words echoed in her mind.
All the mages she’d crossed paths with extorted confidence, and they never hesitated to display their power. Yet, since arriving in the city, Naia hadn’t witnessed a trace of magic. She expected wards of the city to be floating with oddities and incantations, but from what she’d seen, it appeared to be… normal.
