Aurora’s Shadow Saloon was located on the far side of Grand Lake from the Estates, at the edge of the area known as Shadow Lake. The roads were narrow, but surprisingly clear and easy to navigate, as they curved around Shadow Lake at the base of the overlooking mountain that gave the lake its name. When Bertie pulled up into the parking lot, Sam noted the parking lot was barely a quarter filled, with a predominance of trucks, SUVs, and a cluster of what looked to be all Harley Davidsons all parked off in one corner of the lot.
The saloon, which the locals all called ‘The ASS,’ for obvious reasons, was in a converted warehouse, the old bricks weathered with age, but in excellent repair. The two-story structure had been renovated, the entire ground level covered with horizontal wooden logs, giving it a more rustic look, while the windows had all been replaced with mirrored glass, reflecting the view of Shadow Lake and the Rockies, illuminated by crimson and gold as the sun set behind them. The entrance had once been a loading dock, with a pair of massive carved wooden doors at the top of a concrete stairway.
Both doors had been beautifully crafted, and as Sam joined the others in getting out of the Range Rover, she couldn't help but study the intricate craftsmanship. The door on the left was a single wolf, standing sentry, gazing out toward the Rockies—and visitors—with a noble sense of protectiveness in its stance. Behind the wolf, the forest and trees mimicked the Rockies all around, while the sky had been done in a beautiful stained glass of a night sky and the Aurora Borealis, illuminated from within by the lights inside the saloon. On the right were wolves in the distance, with a single wolf high on a cliff overlooking an obsidian lake, howling in silhouette against an ivory glass moon.
Above the doors hung a sign, the saloon's name burned into a hewn log along with the saloon's logo, a cattle brand depicting the letters A-S-S. Sam snorted, muffling a giggle as she closed the car door and joined the girls, and Bertie, as they headed up the stairs, into the saloon.
As they approached the door, Sam shivered as she felt the distinctive prick of glamour washing over her skin. Tilting her head down a little so she could glance around over her glasses, she muffled a gasp. The doors were alive, the wolves milling about in the background, with the wolf on the left actually moving its eyes as they approached. The glass scintillated with a living borealis, and she swore she could faintly hear the baying of wolves.
Feeling a massive mitt land gently on her shoulder, Sam looked up to find Bertie giving her a small, knowing grin. "The saloon is Uncanny Friendly, run by one of the local wolf packs." He nodded at the doors. "Mortals are welcome, but the glamour keeps unfriendlies out and keeps us safe while we're here. It's a Sanctuary, like the Estates are." And once more, Sam heard the initial cap of the word Sanctuary. She'd have to ask about that later, though, as Clara and Gen pushed open the doors and led the way in. Sam was just glad they hadn't grabbed her arms like they usually did.
With the sisters up front and Bertie bringing up the rear, the much shorter Sam felt like a hobbit. Okay, so the sisters were Sidhe, not Elves—totally different, apparently—and Bertie was a Gargoyle, and she was human, but she did have to admit privately to herself that Second Breakfast was the best invention ever. After cheesecake. And coffee. Okay, so it was up there, but when a Second Breakfast was cheesecake and coffee, then it was truly the best invention ever.
Caught up in her mental Tolkien debate, Sam paid little attention as they went through the saloon's lobby. She only half-paid attention to the décor, an eclectic mix of rustic and modern that seemed popular throughout the area, but she was already swinging her hips in time to the low country music that filled the air.
Sam was by no means a Country & Western girl, but good music was good music, and it was Miss Patsy Cline and "Walking After Midnight." You had to be soulless to not adore Patsy! Sam hummed along as she followed the girls.
By the time they reached a table in the wide, open bar, Sam finally started to take note of their surroundings, particularly since there was already a small group of people waiting for their arrival. Shrieks and hugs suddenly surrounded a bewildered Sam, who took a cautious step away from the chaos of flying arms, kissy faces, and laughter. Even Bertie seemed caught in the pandemonium.
A sudden arm around her shoulder drug Sam right into the midst of the mess. "Okay, my lovelies, may I introduce Ms. Samantha Kelly, but please call her Sam," Gen declared theatrically. "Yes, she's Mortal, but she's in the know, so no need to keep anything on the down-low, especially since she's going to be around the Estates for some time to come, so make her feel welcome!"
Was it just Sam's imagination, or was there an unsaid 'or else' tagged on the end of that?
Sam made a slight curtsey, flashing the curious faces a grin as she said, "A pleasure, I'm sure! And yeah, please, call me Sam."
With a finger, Gen introduced the others. "Right, from the left, we have Raven Rowan, the sassiest sorceress of sauces and goddess of the barbeque pits throughout the region," a grinning, mischievous face winked at Sam. Raven looked barely old enough to drive, and obviously had some Asian heritage, with gorgeous dark eyes and long, flowing black hair. She was average height, busty and curvy, and wearing a gorgeous print in a delicate maxi tea dress, off the shoulder and in a pale pink that highlighted the woman's flawless complexion. Bitch. Around her neck, she wore a black choker with a silver bear paw inlaid with rose quartz. Like Sam, she also wore glasses, though hers were as pink and pretty as her dress.
"She's also a total witch, but we try not to hold that against her," Gen said in an aside, earning a laugh from Raven.
"Hey, Sam, welcome to the party, sister," Raven said, her accent this strange combination of rounded vowels and clipped consonants, a weird mingling of Bostonian and Kiwi.
"Next," Gen said, her finger sweeping clockwise to a tall, buxom woman with deep, rich brown skin. She wore a killer jade-green sheath dress, her riotous curls pulled back from a sharply-featured face, with high cheekbones to make Grace Jones proud and brilliant emerald green eyes. "We have Siobhan O'Connell..."
The woman playfully snapped gleaming ivory fangs at Gen's still pointing finger, amusement glinting amber in the woman's green eyes. "Stay!" Gen snapped, which had the table roaring with laughter when the woman obediently sat back and gave a little bark.
Gen smirked down at Sam. "Obviously, she's Alpha Bitch of one of the local wolfpacks. Her brother's the actual Alpha, and they own this swanky joint, as well as run the Black Irish Tavern in the Village."
Blinking innocently at Sam's sudden giggle, Siobhan said, "What? I love a good Black & Tan. Seemed appropriate." Siobhan shrugged, "Besides, Irish Wagon Bomb seemed a bit too silly, even for us." She pointed over toward a man behind the bar who nearly rivaled Bertie in sheer mass and musculature, "That's my twin, Saxen. He's older by like two whole minutes, but he's never let me hear the end of it."
Apparently hearing his name spoken, Saxen glanced up from the pretty blonde he had been flirting with, giving his sister a mock glare, who responded by kissing her hand and blowing a kiss, accompanied by a middle finger. Saxen's handsome face brightened as he grinned and shook his head, turning his attention back toward the pouting little blonde cowgirl who beamed once she had regained his attention. Wearing a tight green t-shirt with the bar's logo on it, Saxen's muscles flexed rather impressively as he mixed a drink, never ceasing in his flirting with the girl.
"That's why we call the bar ASS, in case you were wondering," Siobhan said in a mournful stage whisper. "I only felt it appropriate to warn the female population, but somehow, they just don't clue in."
"It's the muscles," Clara said.
"His smile, definitely his smile," Gen contradicted.
"He's extremely good-looking," Bertie shrugged, a faint flush dusting his cheeks as he looked away from the bar and sat down.
"He's hung like a horse," added a soft, lilting voice. This came from a deceptively innocent-looking woman who blinked as she was suddenly the center of attention. Blushing furiously, the tiny, petite little woman waved her hands rapidly in front of her face. "That's what I heard! Really! Totally rumors!"
Obviously seeking to change the subject, the young woman hopped up and held out her hand to Sam. "I'm Athena. Totally not a goddess, or an Amazon, or anything cool like that, just a common, garden variety pixie."
Athena's hair was not in a pixie cut, and Sam felt oddly disappointed by that. Instead, the young girl's hair hung in loose waves down her back, and was a shimmering veil of pastel colors, ranging from the palest blue to a vivid pink, with light violet and leaf green highlights, that should have all clashed, but somehow all worked together for her. Her face was young, unblemished and had that peaches-and-cream complexion magazines raved about, but no one in real life seemed to have without lots of makeup. She wore a deep turquoise, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, but over that, she wore a black leather bustier, laced up the front with baby blue laces that brought out the powder blue of her eyes. She also wore a pair of Jordache vintage jeans and Converse sneakers in a sparkly light blue.
"Okay, I have to ask," Sam grinned. "A pixie? Really?"
With a huff and crossed eyes, Athena plopped back down in her chair and crossed her arms as she jutted her chin at a mutinous angle. "Yeah, a pixie. We're small but mighty!" She uncurled her arms and flexed, making as mean a face as she possibly could. Too damned adorable for words, Sam resisted the urge to reach out and cuddle her all up. Like a puppy!
In an aside, Clara said, "Just as an F-Y-I, Little Miss Mighty there can literally bench press a bus. Despite the reputation they've gained over the last century or so, both pixies and sprites are known for three things: dancing like no one's watching, fighting like they are trying out for the Fight or Flight Club, and drinking booze like they are afraid Prohibition is making a comeback. They're mean."
"We are not!" Athena giggled, "That's the sprites." She batted her big blue eyes at Sam, "Sprites are the mean ones. Pixies rock! Hell, we even had a punk band named after us!"
Sam didn't have the heart to tell the adorable little pixie what her favorite soda was. She just made a mental note to never order one around Athena!
"And don't even get her started on Tink," Raven laughed, "Or we'll be here all night listening to how that little blonde bitch betrayed her own kind!"
"Tink's a scut!" Athena said, reaching for her drink. The pixie stopped and blinked around the table, however, when the entire group, sans Sam, chorused her curse. "Well, she is!"
Oh yeah, Sam was going to fit in just fine with this crowd.