One eyebrow lifted, but otherwise Oliver showed no emotion.
“So anyway, I’m here now.”
“I see that.”
Griffin stuffed his free hand into the front pocket of his jeans, even though he was probably supposed to stand at attention or something. Honestly, he didn’t know. He figured Oliver would put him through some sort of training regimen before he started helping to save the world. Or so he’d heard that was what Oliver’s gargoyles did.
“Come,” his new boss said, and he strode toward the closed gate.
Griffin hurried after him. “Where are we going?” That was it? That was his greeting? There wasn’t a whole lot of information in that greeting. In fact, there was none. Where was Griffin sleeping tonight? What was the training plan? Where were the other gargoyles he would be working with?
At the closed gate, Oliver reached through the slates and wrapped his hand around the lock. A moment later, the chain it was attached to slithered free and Oliver pushed the barred doors open. At his nod, Griffin stepped through, onto the sidewalk, and then Oliver replaced the lock and chain.
Without speaking, he began striding down the path running along the front of the cemetery. Griffin’s long, lean legs easily kept up. “Seriously. Where are we going?”
Griffin wasn’t a fan of surprises. He had no problem with whatever undoubtedly physically and mentally challenging preparations he was going to have to go through as a new member of Oliver’s team, so long as his boss told him what he was planning to do.
This silent walking—away from their home turf, by the way—was damned unnerving.
The farther they moved away from the City of the Dead, the more people they encountered, which also set Griffin on edge. There were definitely dragons here; he could sense them. He could see them. He could smell them. They didn’t smell bad—most of them, at any rate—but it was certainly distinct. They always seemed to have the faint scent of a campfire clinging to their skin.
He glanced around, checking out each face in turn, searching for one in particular—relieved each time he did not recognize the person who crossed his path. It wasn’t even Mardi Gras and this place was crowded with revelers. Griffin made a mental note to use his vacation time to get out of town during the Fat Tuesday celebrations.
Wait. He did get vacation time, right?
Everything he knew about this new gig could be summed up in a few sentences. It was a lifetime responsibility. Once someone joined Oliver’s brethren, they did not leave. There was no quitting, no retirement plan. The only other bit of information he knew was that relationships were strictly forbidden. No falling in love, no mating, no bearing offspring.
No problem.
That might have been the reason Griffin actually did show up today—well, and the fact that Oliver would have come after him at some point and demanded his presence. But that whole no falling in love, no bearing offspring rule held a lot of appeal for a guy like Griffin.
At the next block, Oliver hung a left and began walking away from the crowds, and Griffin let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Oliver finally stopped in front of a nondescript brick building with a fenced in patio that was bustling, probably because it was September and seventy degrees instead of ninety outside.
The place also reeked of dragons.
“Seriously?” Griffin burst out. “We’re going to a bar? And why this one?”
Oliver canted his head. “You seemed like you were getting nervous back there, where it was more crowded.”
It wasn’t the crowds, per se—okay, yeah, he wasn’t a fan of crowds in general—it was the chance of running into a dragon he knew. Rather, had made an acquaintance once, four years ago. But he’d not left a positive impression, and he’d really rather not have to face this particular dragon ever again.
“Why are we going to a bar anyway?” Griffin repeated.
Without answering, Oliver reached for the door and held it open. With a resigned sigh, Griffin stepped into the dim interior.
It was a small place, clean and simple. Miniature lights hung above the bar, and there were huge, framed shots from various New Orleans Saints football games on the exposed brick walls. Double doors leading out to the patio were wide open, giving him a glimpse of mismatched outdoor furniture, most of which was occupied by…dragons.
Everywhere he turned, there were dragons. Hell, there wasn’t even a witch or a human in the vicinity. No, wait, there was one. A witch, bellied up to the bar, putting back shots like she was in a competition with the dragon next to her.
“What is this, the dragons’ version of Cheers?” he muttered. He was still carrying his duffle, too, which made him even more self-conscious. Who the heck carried an overnight bag into a bar? He hunched his shoulder, as if that would somehow make him invisible.
It’s a big city, Griffin. The chances of running into one particular dragon…
Oliver snickered and clapped him on the back. “Outside or the bar?”
“Neither,” was what he wanted to say. Instead, he shrugged.
“Outside it is.” Oliver headed that way. “Might as well take advantage of the less than 100 percent humidity while we can.”
They stepped out onto the patio, and several dragons eyed them like they didn’t belong. Which they didn’t, not that Oliver seemed to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. There wasn’t frostiness in those gazes, simply…curiosity.
Dragons and gargoyles didn’t often interact. They didn’t have a need to. Gargoyles existed to protect others, and there were few dragons who could not take care of themselves. Breathing fire was a handy trait to possess.
He followed Oliver to a brick firepit built into the center
