What the hell am I doing in England? Well, what ever the original purpose was, it’s going to be postponed for a proper pint. I step into the nearest pub and completely ignore all the unfriendly stares the locals are giving me.
I ask the price of a pint and lay double that on the bar. “One pint of something other than water for me, please. Save the rest for a desperate soul.” The barkeep softens a bit. By the time he brings me said pint of beer, he’s smiling.
The locals are still scowling but I’m visually ignoring them. An instinct seizes me. “Young man!” The balding barkeep openly laughed with mirth when I called him. I lay another two pints worth of change on the bar. “Another poured pint please, and another for the desperate soul fund.”
“Why do you pay double? Do you truly think I won’t pocket it for myself?”
“A politician takes charity and calls it his due. A working man takes charity and puts it to use. But the working man never forgets and should he see another in need, he’ll pass that charity on. Of course you’ll take it! Free money is free money! But when a broken man comes in and the only thing standing between him and destruction is a pint he can’t afford, you’ll hand him that pint without question.”
Many of the locals turned back to their own drinks in shame. A few deepened their suspicion of me but said nothing. The barkeep took the extra money and placed it in a prominent jar on the shelf behind him. “Aye. I’ve seen such men. And I’ve done the same.”
I placed the second pint to my side. No sooner had I pulled my hand back did the door open and a person come in. He came straight to the bar and took the seat next to me. Without a single word, he took the pint I set aside and drank half before the barkeep noticed.
“Took you long enough.” I teased him to cover up my ignorance of his identity.
“Thought I’d let you enjoy yourself for a moment.”
The locals resumed their scowling. The man pulled his scarf down. A collective gasp silenced the pub. I turned to him to see why.
If the slightly blue tone to his skin didn’t give him away, nor the too thin and too angular features of his face, nor the too long fingers with four segments, then it was the pointed ears that betrayed him as Fey.
I still didn’t know who he is. But I felt I’ve known him for ages.
“So what’s the proper greeting I should say to you?”
“You bought me a pint. Anything else is air and bollocks.”
“And what name should I call you by?”
He did not answer. He only smiled revealing the sharp teeth of a carnivore. I shrugged and resumed emptying my glass.
“Miss.” The barkeep came on my open side. “As you were fair to me, I’ll be fair to you. This chap is one of the Good Folk. Don’t let him kiss you on the lips, Miss, or your warmth will leave you forever.”
I turned to the Fey. “Is that right?” He nodded. “Okay.” I thanked the barkeep for his honesty.
“Still up for the game, Miss?”
“That depends, Good Sir. Am I predator or prey?”
The Fey laughed with glee. “Both.” A few of the locals crossed themselves. One tried to discreetly ‘spill’ salt beside him.
I finally recognized him. Groaning at the subterfuge, I rolled my eyes and slapped him soundly on the arm. The others cringed in fear. The Fey only laughed harder in legitimate mirth.
“You bloody ass! Taking honors from me you haven’t earned! You right bloody cheeky wanker! I’m gonna split your ass in two, I am!”
“The Hunt is on, then?”
“Start running boy, because after I finish my pint, I’m taking my expenses out your ass!”
We both raced to finish our drink. Of course he downs his in one gulp. He thanks the barkeep and throws his farewells over his shoulder as he leaps from stool to door in one step. He’s out the door as I finish my glass.
“Good beer! Hope I come across here again! If you’ll excuse me, I have to go chase a bitch. Bye!”
The barkeep waves in stunned silence as I move too quick from stool to door. Becoming a fluid shadow, I don’t open the door. I flow through the crack in the frame and enter a deeper sleep.