The bartender leaned over the bar, gripped the edge, and winked at a sour-faced Maverick.
Maverick shook his blond head and grabbed his glass, emptying it. “I’m going outside. The place reeks of a dead body, and I need fresh air,” he stood and slid the glass down the bar, then turned to Ivy, “You guys coming?” Ivy and Milo both agreed, and the three took off toward the doors behind us.
“See what I mean?” Monday sighed.
An impala skull hung high over the shelves of liquor bottles on the back wall of the bar, its long brown horns twisting up, the skull similar to Julian’s.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender asked, and all that stared back was a pair of golden eyes like the eyes of a dragon. A bit of curiosity stirred inside them as he studied my features.
“She’ll have what I’m having,” Fable interjected. A long pause passed as the Heathen’s eyes dragged from mine to Fable’s, and he pushed off the bar and walked away. Fable’s face fell, and Monday twisted her neck to deliver a warning glare. Fable waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“He’s one of them?” I questioned in a whisper.
“Yeah, Phoenix Wildes,” Monday leaned closer, “He owns the bar and can’t turn us away. I think it drives him crazy.”
“Why come at all if you know you’re not welcome?”
“It’s slim pickins’ around here. There’s one bar aside from the Portside Pearl on the coast, not many places to hang out on a Friday night.” She shrugged and pulled away when Phoenix returned, dropping a drink in front of me.
A loud crack rang out as billiard balls slammed together over the green felt of the pool table. The sounds of the balls falling into pockets mixed with the music. I sat between Monday and Fable as they chatted back and forth about Defy Superstition Day and Mabon. I’d tuned out, scanning the room and running my fingers along the lines of the detailed wood of the custom bar. Julian was bent over the pool table, and the pool stick slid between his fingers when anothercrack!rang in my ears. He tilted his head and straightened his posture, paying no attention to his double ball drop-in as his gaze locked on mine.
“Yoo-hoo, Fallon,” Monday snapped in my face, and I jerked my head around, “Was what we saw in those woods not enough for you?”
“It’s not that,” I said, trying to deviate whatever assumptions she had going on inside her head about Julian. “There’s something … about him. Something different.”
And there was, or maybe it was the alcohol. Light-headed, dizzy, spellbinding, either the liquor was poisoning my brain, Julian was getting inside my head with his so-called dark magic, or the town was making me sick. But when I should be scared after seeing what he had done—after seeing him slaughter a goat—I wasn’t.
Monday crossed her legs and swung on the stool to face me. “Different? And the masks didn’t give that away? I get it—the fascination. The wonder,” she wiggled her fingers between us with wide eyes, “Who are the mystery guys behind the masks? But trust me, it’s a dead end. They’re cold. They have zero personality. They’re hardly even human. And they don’t talk to anyone unless they have to, as ifwe’rethe wasted breath.” She counted out with her fingers.
My gaze found Julian’s again. He’d talked to me on the rocks, but I didn’t tell Monday or Fable that.
I swallowed and skated my eyes back to the girls. “What’s up with the whole mask thing, anyway?”
The girls exchanged glances before Fable leaned closer. “They’re cursed.”
“The curse of the Hollow Heathens,” Monday added and took a sip from her straw.
Fable flipped her long brown locks off her shoulder and rested her elbow on the bar. “Julian is a member of the Norse Woods Coven and a Hollow Heathen.”
“Yeah, Milo told me about them, and how they are the last four of the original descendants from that coven.”
“Right,” Fable continued, “Supposedly they wear the masks because if you were to see their faces, all you’d see are your fears staring back at you. Their face sucks you in, and just like that”—she snapped, and I flinched— “your heart stops, scared todeath.”
I arched a brow, eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious …”
Fable pursed her lips and shrugged. “No one really knows for sure, not like anyone’s lived to say if it’s true or not. It’s a shame, really. Their coven is dying. Not like they care.” Her eyes turned sad, and she stared at the back of Phoenix’s head, drilling holes as she spoke, “They don’t care about anything.”
“Fable used to crush hard on Phoenix,” Monday explained through a whisper. “Thought she could get through to him.”
“Notget through to him.” Fable rolled her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. I’m not telling you shit anymore.”
“How come it’s only them who wear the masks?” I haven’t seen any other’s keep their faces hidden.
Another quietness swept through the two of them.
Fable flicked her eyes over to where Phoenix was standing then back to me. “Only the first-born sons of the original five. Death always follows their family. Julian’s dad murdered seven people twelve years ago, so the Order … Let’s just say he’s dead. Beck’s dad stays inside, no one has seen him in years, and Phoenix…both his parents…gone,” she continued, and my eyes slid over to Phoenix, who had his back to us at the other end of the bar, his brown hair tied into a low bun at his neck. With one hand over the lever, he poured beer into a tilted glass, and the muscles in his shoulders flexed as if he heard what we were saying. “They’re a dying breed.”
“You forgot about Mr. Goody,” Monday jetted in.
