There was something about her, though…a light that shined around her.
Almost like an aura.
I shook my head. Damn it, that was crazy thinking, and I didn’t have time for that.
I strode toward the bar, determined to look like I knew what I was doing. I stopped in front of it, and she gave me an easy grin, revealing perfect white teeth.
“What’ll it be?” Her voice was light and airy.
What the hell should I order at this hour? Truth was, I’d kill for a cup of tea to settle my nerves. “Tea, please.”
She nodded and turned back to the kettle. Most of the bar was dedicated to alcohol—there were at least six beer taps, including some for Real Ale, and shelves full of booze. But there was a pretty silver electric kettle near the sink, and I watched her go to work.
All around me, the air prickled with something I couldn’t identify. It gave me the strangest sense of déjà vu. I swear I’d felt this before.
Breath held, I slid onto a barstool.
I’d reached my final destination—I just needed to figure out why the victim had a matchbook from this place when he died. It was possible the cops could find a link to this location and show up, but as long as the dead guy hadn’t had two matchbooks on him, I’d have a little while.
From my stool, I had a view into a mirror over the bar. I could see the patrons behind me, and upon closer inspection, a lot of them looked kind of…weird. I swore that one of them had vaguely green skin. Not in an “I’m going to puke” kind of way, but more of an “I’m from Mars” fashion.
Nah.
But another one looked to have tiny horns peeping up from his hair.
Double nah.
Then I spotted the woman with three eyes.
Well, shit.
I blinked a few times, mind racing. The man in my vision—the killer—he’d seemed to have fangs. I’d thought it was crazy at the time, but…
The woman’s third eye, which sat right in the middle of her forehead and was a beautiful lavender color, made contact with mine. She blinked, and it was entirely too realistic.
Quickly, I looked away, my heart pounding.
I spotted a shadowy form near the fire—a dog, curled up on a bed. He was transparent.
Ghost dog.
No way.
The bartender loomed in front of me, and I jumped.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Um, yeah.” I smiled, trying to look normal and knowing that I probably came off as insane.
“You’re not all right.” She said it in the way that a therapist would say it. Or like a really experienced bartender.
“Ah, no.”
“Here.” She set the teacup down in front of me, then added a tiny carafe of milk and a plate of biscuits.
My gaze fell to them, recognizing the golden rounds. “HobNobs.”
“No baking in here, I’m afraid.” She raised slender hands. “I’m shit with it. But you’ll get Tesco’s best.”