I sat at our favorite bar, wrapping my light trench coat around me like a robe. Underneath, I was dressed way nicer than any of the other customers. I was waiting for Claire, and had wanted a drink to calm my nerves. Not being able to bear any more time around Roland, with his endless list of reminders and advice, I had fled to our favorite drinking hole. Never dressed like this, I thought to myself with an amused grin as I sipped my dirty martini.

We had slept in shifts, making sure one of us was always awake in case Roland needed something, which he hated. I had made sure to be extra motherly on my shifts, informing him that it wasn’t good to grind his dentures like that, which had made his face turn a purple I had never seen before on a human. It was small recompense.

Claire had run to the zoo to pick up a few things just in case, but seemed surprised that he wasn’t infected, and didn’t look to be leaning towards future infection. Which sounded hunky-dory to me, until she repeated that it didn’t change his condition, and that although his fracture was minor, he would need to stay off it for quite some time, and really should go to a doctor for an x-ray, just in case. He had grown tight-lipped at that, but didn’t outright deny her.

Beneath her clinical demeanor, I could sense Claire was terrified, just like she had told me. So was I, but I tried to think about it from her perspective. She was a Regular. No magic whatsoever. And despite that handicap, she seemed to excel, almost radiating confidence, infecting me with brighter cheer than I wanted to have.

If Claire, a Regular, could walk into a den of monsters looking unafraid, then I could, as well. I tried to apply that rationale to my nightmares, wondering how to make it help me. Claire seemed to be acknowledging the facts, and although unhappy about them, she still embraced them. She had told me there was no point in focusing on why she was afraid. That fear wasn’t going anywhere, so she accepted that what we were doing was terrifying, and that was that. All that was left was to get the piece of the spear and get the job done.

She was a gem. Truly.

I had come to the bar to clear my head — not only to get away from Roland — and try to embrace my own fears, wondering if Claire was wiser than I had ever thought. My nightmare still nagged at me, lurking in the shadows, but it was slightly muted after allowing myself to focus on it several times throughout the day, riding the memory, so to speak.

I was still scared, and nowhere near her level of mastery, but I did feel better. More in control.

I sipped my drink, waiting for Claire to arrive. I wasn’t intending to get drunk, although the idea did slightly appeal. Anything to overcome my trepidation. But one drink couldn’t hurt. Maybe two, if Claire didn’t hurry up. I wasn’t much of a drinker. I liked drinking for taste, not results. Except when I was about to enter a den of monsters. Then, I would drink for results. Just enough to calm my nerves.

“Why so serious?” a voice murmured from my right. I turned, masking my features. And blinked.

A nerdy, but handsome man, close in age to me, was smiling back. He wore chic Ray-Ban glasses, and didn’t fit into the crowd of locals. He drank a whisky, judging by the color of the amber liquid and the short glass. He was in decent shape, and his messy, coal-colored hair caught the light, making it shine. His eyes were a deep brown, and he was clean-shaven. He wore well-fitting jeans, a pair of Adidas sneakers, and a Game of Thrones t-shirt.

The bar wasn’t exactly a dive or anything, but it was typically full of frat boys bathed in Axe body spray or old working men. An occasional suit would walk in, due to the proximity of the financial district, but would rapidly find an excuse to leave, searching out a trendier pond to graze at. This man wasn’t the typical patron. Not unusual compared to anywhere else, but not usual for this place.

Then again, I was wearing a sleek dress and heels, and I had noticed a dozen dirty looks upon sitting down, even though several of those faces soon recognized me as one of their own, suddenly baffled at my clothing. “Quoting Heath Ledger’s Joker is not the best pickup line. Not at all.” I said, since it was obvious no one else was going to talk to either of us.

The other reason Claire and I came here was because of the owner, Martha. A sharp-tongued old woman who cursed like a sailor and loved Claire and me as if we were her own daughters. She rolled her eyes behind the bar in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t draw attention to her.

He blushed, nodding after a moment. “Point taken. You just looked very serious. All dressed up, and no one here to take you anywhere,” he smiled warmly. Not creepily. Not even seeming to hit on me. Just observing. He also sat two chairs away, when anyone hitting on me would have already swooped in for the kill, taking my look as a sign I was about to toss my panties to the ground. Martha watched in the mirror, pretending to dust bottles, humming to the music in the background. She averted her eyes when I looked at her.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“Bad habit, that,” he said, turning back to face the bar, glancing up at the TV in the corner, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“What’s a bad habit?” I smiled in spite of myself. Just friendly conversation.

“Waiting. Really bad habit. Trust me.”

“Oh?”

He turned to me, face overly serious. “Yes. Since you are so interested in me, I guess I’ll go to lunch with you tomorrow.” He plucked out a pocket-sized Moleskine journal — of all things — and thumbed through it for a few seconds before setting it down beside his drink. He really was a nerd! “Yes. I’m free tomorrow. Let’s say noon at Jim’s. A steakhouse on the Plaza.”

I couldn’t help it. I let out a laugh. “Very clever. Why not just ask me to do something tonight?”

“Because you’re obviously busy, and I’d rather not be jumped by your date. I might look strong,” he leaned closer, as if to whisper conspiratorially. “But I’m not. And fishing for late night hook-ups isn’t really my style.”

“Style, eh?” I said, glancing at his outfit.

He nodded, still with the mock serious face. “Game of Thrones is awesome,” he said defensively. “Anyone can take a girl home. Not everyone can show a girl a fun time during the day. Plus, this isn’t my local spot. I’m only here because my sister picked it at random.” He pointed over a shoulder where a trio of pretty girls were talking to a few boys in a booth, playing a drinking game of some kind. They looked younger than the man beside me. He rolled his eyes as I looked back at him, knowing what I had seen over his shoulder. “Plus, asking a girl out for the night is a good way for me to get taken advantage of. I know the tricks your kind plays,” he smiled. I just stared at him, intrigued. His eyes flicked over my shoulder. “I think she’s waiting for you, but doesn’t want to ruin our chance at budding romance. I’ll see you tomorrow…” he drew out the silent question.

“Callie,” I answered, turning to see Claire standing in the doorway, grinning at me, nodding excitedly at the man beside me.

“Callie,” he repeated the name like it was succulent chocolate. “Is that short for Calliope?”

“Sure,” I laughed, even though it wasn’t remotely close. I did that often — misled people, because it seemed everyone I met felt they needed to guess what Callie was short for.

His smile stretched thoughtfully. “My name’s Johnathan. I’ll see you there. And have a good time tonight,” he said, turning back to the bar. “Can I get another, please? This is for the servers tonight,” he said, setting down a folded bill by his drink. Martha stared at it for a second, and then, smiling, moved to take his glass. Johnathan casually grabbed her hand, and before Martha could pull it away, he kissed it. “And that’s for me.”

I stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing as Martha began cursing him up and down. He smiled back, as if expecting full well how she would react.

“Yes, I imagine you will…” I turned to go, shaking my head as Claire beamed at me from the doorway, nodding her approval. She also wore a coat to cover her evening attire, but her hair looked exquisite. She had done it herself, the bitch.

My thoughts drifted back to Johnathan as Claire tugged me out the door. Well, that was… interesting. I had never had anyone hit on me at a bar only to ask me to lunch. Maybe it was a sign that tonight wasn’t going to be so bad.