Melvin exhaled slowly. “You ever get the feeling that if we stay here tonight we’re just going to keep thinking about convoys and casualty reports?”
Mac tilted his head. “That usually happens on a combat deployment.”
Melvin shot him a look.
Mac’s mouth curved.
Melvin glanced toward the window. “I could use a few hours somewhere that isn’t Iraq.”
Mac stood and grabbed his jacket. “Might be time to go on our little adventure again.”
Melvin raised an eyebrow. “To the bar?”
Mac shrugged. “Unless you’ve got a better supernatural dive hidden somewhere on base.”
Melvin snorted as he stood. “I can’t wait to see who’s at the bar tonight.”
Mac opened the door. “And whether they’re real.”
They crossed the quiet compound together. The guard shack sat dark near the edge of the perimeter road.
Melvin pushed the door open. The air inside shifted immediately. Mac closed the door behind them, the latch clicking softly. The room hummed faintly as Mac ran his fingers along the worn runes.
“You sure about this tonight?” Mac asked.
“Yeah,” Melvin said. “I just want to feel normal for a little while.”
Mac pressed his palm to the wood.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the air behind the wall shimmered until a doorway stood where the wall had been.
The smell changed first. Oak smoke. Old whiskey. Citrus.
The bar.
Mac glanced over his shoulder. “After you.”
Melvin stepped through.
The bar was warm and dim. Lantern light glowed against dark wood walls. Two women Melvin guessed were witches argued softly over a card game. A werebear nursed a beer at the far end.
The bartender looked up.
“Evening, Lieutenant.”
“Evening.”
Mac stepped through behind him and the portal closed.
For a moment it felt like the war had stopped at the door.
They took a table near the back. Mac ordered whiskey for both of them. Melvin wrapped his fingers around the glass.
Mac watched him. “You look like someone just pulled you out of a firefight.”
“Give me a minute.”
