The Sinner

“I’m kidding.” His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

I laughed and nudged his arm with my elbow. Cas almost smiled when something across the street caught his eye. I looked in time to see two shadows fleeing from the yellow cone of a streetlight.

“Let’s go there,” Cas said, nodding at Mulligan’s, an Irish pub just up the block.

“Something wrong?”

“I feel like having a drink. It’s a well-populated establishment, therefore, it must be good.”

I looked away. “I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s ten steps from your home. You’ve never been?”

“Never.”

I braced myself for his cutting remarks. Instead, he cast a final glance across the empty street and steered me toward the pub. I wasn’t a big drinker, to say the least, but after the events of the last two days, getting a little tipsy seemed like a very good idea.

Mulligan’s interior was dark with a few neon signs for Guinness and Murphy’s glowing over the faces of the many patrons on a Saturday night. A TV blared from a corner, showing World Cup highlights, and competed with music from the jukebox. Even the toughest men gave the demon a wide berth, while women eyed him up and down. One caught my eye and mouthed well done.

Every barstool was taken. Two guys at the end were in deep conversation but froze at our arrival. Cas’s eyes flashed to black-on-black again, and I felt the dread pour out. Without a word, the guys grabbed their pints and scurried away.

“Oh my God.” I elbowed Cas and glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. “You did not just do that.”

He shrugged and pulled one stool out for me. “I don’t like waiting.”

I started to scold him when “Devil Inside” by INXS began to play.

“You?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

“Now I really need a drink,” I said, laughing. “And stop doing stuff like that.”

The bartender came around and I ordered an Irish Old Fashioned. Casziel asked for a glass of red wine.

“Only wine?” I teased. “I figured you’d have one of everything and I’d have to take out a loan to cover the tab.”

“Wine has been one of my few constants over the changing centuries on This Side.”

“Centuries.” The bartender set our drinks down, and I took a deep pull. My eyes watered as the whiskey hit the back of my throat, but it settled warmly in my stomach, making me pleasantly loose. “I can’t imagine all you’ve seen over the years. You’re a time-traveler, Cas. Which is easy to forget until you speak.”

“How do I speak?”

“Like you’re in the wrong era. You’re a walking anachronism. No guy I know has the kind of polish and refinement you do.”

Because he’s not a guy. He’s a man.

“You’re an outlander,” I continued, grateful that the dimness of the pub hid my blush. “Like the book, except if Jamie did the time-traveling and Claire stayed put.”

“The book being a romance novel, I presume.”

“Well…yes.”

I toyed with my cocktail napkin, expecting his ridicule, but Cas looked thoughtful.

“Outlander,” he mused. “A fitting title. I am out of my land—my home—and no longer belong anywhere.”

“Were you always…what you are?”