I breathed in the smell of pipe smoke and good drink and smiled. The barkeep kept the dark wood of the wrap-around bar and tables polished to a shine. Couches and armchairs littered the main room, all comfortable and inviting. A pleasant warmth presided, partly from the sheer number of patrons talking, laughing, and drinking around me. I straightened my jacket and weaved through the crowd toward the bar.
The barkeep came to me, all smile and kind eyes. “What can I get you, sir?” he asked. The rosy tint of the man’s cheeks told me he enjoyed the night as thoroughly as any of the patrons.
“Something strong to warm my bones.”
He spun and grabbed a bottle from the top shelf behind him, poured a generous portion into a glass, and slid it toward me. With a grin he said, “Irish. You’ll not find a better whiskey.”
“Perfect! How much?”
“Tuppence.”
I threw twice that on the bar. He deposited the coins into the register beneath the counter, though a tell-tale clink told me the extra coins made it into his pocket instead. I grinned. A man after my own heart.
“Can you recommend a good spot to warm up and get away from the crowd a bit? The devil himself planned this day for me, and I feel a bit less than my best.” I leaned over the bar so he could hear me.
“Try the sitting rooms in the back. There’s a fire going in each, though I can’t promise you won’t find them full.”
I thanked the man, took my drink, and dove back into the throng. As the bartender promised, fires burned in each of the cozier sitting parlors and the couches and chairs became lusher. All seemed full, except the last room at the back.
A couple sat in matching armchairs, one on each side of the fire. Both young, perhaps even more so than I. The man’s light skin stood in stark contrast to his dark hair and gave him a stormy appearance. I envied the spectacular curl of his mustache. A handsome, well put together man who knew his style. I liked that.
The woman sat straight in her chair, eyes closed, absently petting my feline friend who groomed herself. With her high cheekbones and long eyelashes, the woman reminded me of the paintings of the kings and queens of old. Despite her regal air, her dress seemed ill-fitted to her, as if made for someone else originally. Then she opened her eyes and fixed me with her gaze. I froze in my tracks. She studied me as a soldier might study their enemy on the battlefield.
A shiver ran down my spine as she took me in, and I swallowed hard.
“Can we help you?” she asked, her voice like ice. The man glanced over when she spoke, giving me a once over.
I cleared my throat, trying to settle myself. “Terribly sorry to disturb. The lovely lady there led me here.” I pointed to the cat purring in her lap. “We met outside, and she suggested I join her.”
“Always good to meet a man Frisker approves of,” the man said, standing and extending a hand. I took it and we shook, his grip firm and confident. “Your name, sir?”
“Crowley, sir. Aleister Crowley.”
“Damn my soul,” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I didn’t expect to meet you like this, Mr. Crowley. Frisker chooses her friends wisely indeed.”
“Apologies, but how do you know me?”
“George Cecil Jones, at your service.” He bowed. “You received my letter, yes?”
Warning bells rang in my head. Of course the cat whose hair had fallen into the envelope belonged to Jones, but how curious she’d lead me to her master in a place like this. I don’t believe in coincidence.
“I did.” I opened my Sight and the otherworld slipped into view. London’s ancient ambient magic swirled about us, but the couple before me seemed normal. More curious still. I closed my Sight and said, “A pleasure to meet you before initiation day.”
“Indeed, but my manners escape me. Let me introduce Miss Elaine Simpson.” He gestured to his companion. “Another well-recommended neophyte I take pleasure in sponsoring.”
“Charmed.” She extended her hand, her voice so full of sarcasm I felt it in the air.
I took her hand and kissed the back, earning me a roll of her eyes.
“Please, join us.” Jones gestured to an empty chair.
I glanced at Miss Simpson, who stared daggers at me still. I refused to allow her to cow me. “With pleasure.”
“Splendid.” He dragged the extra chair into position. Miss Simpson narrowed her eyes, clearly unhappy.
“Mr. Baker regaled me with tales of your research and exploits,” Jones said, giddy as we settled into our places. “I found it most intriguing.”
“Did he?” I said, sipping my drink.
“Indeed! Your research in the Black Forest fascinated me most of all.” His casual mention of the events in the Black Forest made me flinch. “Tell me, how fared your search for Fae creatures?”
“Less fruitful than I hoped.” I took a much longer drink of my whiskey this time.
“Disappointing.”
“To say the least,” I said with a strained smile. In fact, I called it a goddamn tragedy.
Before my mood could sour further, Jones leaned forward and said, “Well, what of your most recent excursion to the Matterhorn? Did you find yeti?”
“Not quite.” The bloody bastard found me. “I believe I saw one, though. I even managed to collect a sample.”
“Wonderful,” Miss Simpson said suddenly, her tone dripping dispassion. A masterful interjection, halting the entire flow of our conversation. She scratched under Frisker’s chin, a little grin on her lips.
Two could play this game.
“And what of you, Elaine?” I asked, reveling in the way she bristled when I used her first name. “What gave you an interest in the esoteric?”
“Well, Aleister, I hardly think that any of your business.” She plucked Frisker from her lap and deposited her into Jones’, then stood and gave him a little curtsy. “I enjoyed meeting with you, Mr. Jones, but I must adjourn. Good night.”
With that,
