Patrick put his badge away, eyeing the leather corded necklace the man wore with the metal hammer pendant hanging from it. “We were told to speak to the owner.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. “He’s working the bar tonight.”
Patrick nodded, then gestured for Wade to follow him into the crowd. “Keep close.”
Wade’s hand latched onto his belt from behind. “Like I’m going anywhere.”
“And keep your hands to yourself.”
“Uh, sure.”
Patrick didn’t hold out any hope that Wade’s sticky fingers wouldn’t come away with other people’s belongings, but now wasn’t the time to argue. Getting through the Friday night crowd was an effort in elbow pushing. The bar was packed, the noise level deafening, and Patrick hated being surrounded by people he didn’t know and couldn’t trust.
Inside, the bar was warmly lit, the walls covered in the same wood paneling as outside. Runes were carved into the walls around bleached trophy skulls, many with horns, some without. Not all of the skulls were of native animals, judging by their size and shape. Some of them looked human-shaped, if a little misshapen, which was unsettling.
If you took away the general crowd and kept only the worshippers, the place could have doubled as an altar of sorts for the god pouring beer and talking loudly with the regulars drinking their weight in golden mead.
Thor was easily the tallest man in the room, with broad shoulders and muscled arms he showed off in a too-tight T-shirt, apparently unbothered by the winter weather outside. His pale red hair looked almost blond in the light. It fell loose past his shoulders in a messy tangle of waves, blending into the thick beard he sported that was a few shades darker. He laughed with his whole body in a way that was welcoming to his patrons, and the friendly smile on his face never disappeared.
If Patrick’s magic wasn’t so overwhelmed with the teeth-buzzing knowledge he was in the presence of a god, he might find Thor’s attempt at passing as human friendly if he didn’t know any better. But he did, and when Thor’s keen, blue-eyed gaze swept the crowd to settle on him, Patrick nearly forgot how to breathe.
I hate feeling like prey.
Thor waved at his fellow bartender, a tall, blonde-haired woman who sported a ponytail half made up of braids. She listened to whatever Thor whispered into her ear, her gaze flickering their way. Then she nodded and took over Thor’s spot with a smile, handling the orders from his customers.
Patrick reached behind and grabbed Wade’s wrist, holding on tightly. “Come on.”
Rather than stay where they were, Patrick headed over to the one open spot at the bar—the staff pass-through area everyone was steering clear of. Another electric jolt of recognition burned through his magic when they reached it. Patrick swallowed the taste of ozone, his right hand drifting toward his dagger. The person seated on the last barstool near the pass-through area twisted around to look over at them, dark brown eyes cut through with streaks of silver narrowing to slits.
“Maybe I should’ve taken your bet, Thor,” the immortal said.
The black leather jacket he wore was decorated on the back with a large beaded motorcycle patch in the shape of a colorful bird’s wings. Black fringe lined the front and back on the sides, arching over each shoulder. His black hair was shaved on the sides, with a central mohawk grown long and ending in a thick, tight braid that fell down his back, the end wrapped in red leather.
“Next time you should throw money in the pot, Otenai,” Thor said mildly as he stepped out from behind the bar.
“When am I ever in Chicago long enough to join your favorite pastime?”
“Gambling is my second favorite pastime. I’ve made a living out of my first.”
Otenai threw back his head and laughed, toasting Thor with the beer in his hand that wasn’t the golden color of mead. “That you have, cousin.”
Thor crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest and stared down at Patrick. The Norse god of thunder was taller than Jono, with a presence that made all of Patrick’s hair stand on end. “What brings you to Chicago?”
Patrick swallowed dryly, finding his voice after a second. “I was told I should come speak with you.”
Thor eyed him for a moment before his attention landed on Wade. “The fledgling is underage in this form. I could lose my alcohol license for allowing him in here.”
“Then close up so we can talk.”
“Is what you have to say so important?”
“It’s about your father. He’s in danger.”
Thor’s eyes narrowed before he nodded, more to himself than to Patrick. “Very well.”
Thor went back behind the bar and grabbed a rope attached to an old iron bell that hung from the ceiling. He gave it several hard pulls, the deep clang of the bell echoing through the bar, cutting through all conversation.
“Last call,” Thor boomed. “Drink up, my faithful.”
