“That will be five-pounds-fifty.” She raised an eyebrow.
“Do you take card?” Mark asked, reaching for his mobile, only to stop as he looked at the barmaid.
“Does this look like one of them human places… cash, love, we take cash,” she stated firmly. “And I’m taking it you will be wanting rooms? so I can set you up on a tab, but that will be cash too.”
Spencer took his pint, lifting it to his lips, and enjoying watching his brother squirm. Spencer had been prepared. In fact, he had researched Krakens Hole a lot, eager to learn all about a place that saw his kind as guardians and not monsters. It was only when his brother looked at him for help did he step in.
“Cash it is, will this suffice for now?” he asked, handing over a crisp fifty-pound note.
The barmaid whistled and held it up to the light. “That will do nicely, anything else you want, you just whistle.” She chuckled and toddled away, leaving the brothers to their pints. Spencersmirked, turned, and scanned the room. At first glance, the pub was busy, lively in fact, and harmless.
The brothers found a table tucked slightly to the side providing them a good vantage point, clear exits with minimal attention. Spencer took another slow sip of his pint. It was actually quite decent, and better than he’d expected.
“Alright,” Mark said, leaning back in his chair. “We’re here. We’re not dead. That’s a promising start.”
Spencer didn’t reply immediately because his gaze had shifted. Not to the crowd in the corner surrounding an old juke box and what looked like a dancing pirate, but instead upward. To above the main floor, where an open loft-like space overlooked the bar. Easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.
Spencer always paid attention.
“You seeing that?” Mark asked quietly, following his line of sight.
Spencer nodded once. There sat around a bar, were a collection of… familiars. Or what he believed had to be familiars. Because there was no other explanation that made sense.
There was a pigeon wearing thick rimmedglasses, of all things, and he was perched at the edge of a small table, peering down at what looked suspiciously like a hand of cards.
Opposite the pigeon sat a ginger tom cat, lounged with the kind of confidence that suggested it thought it owned the entire establishment. Then a squirrel sat upright, tail flicking irritably as it slapped something onto the table, another card, from the look of it.
And hovering slightly above them all… aghostly parrot, translucent and faintly glowing. From the way it tilted its head and squawked, the parrot was deeply invested in whatever game they were playing.
Mark blinked. “I… have several questions.”
“Don’t,” Spencer said immediately.
“I’m going to.”
“I don’t want to hear them.”
“That parrot is cheating,” Mark whispered.
Spencer took another drink. “Probably.”
They watched for a moment longer. The pigeon adjusted its glasses, twitched, and swore.
The squirrel made what could only be described as an aggressive gesture.
The cat simply yawned.
The ghost parrot phased halfway through the table, then popped back up, looking smug.
“I hate this place,” Mark muttered.
“You love it,” Spencer corrected.
“I do a bit.”
Spencer’s attention shifted back to the room below. Normal and unbothered. As if this…all of this,was entirely expected.
Krakens Hole.
