CHAPTER ONE
November, 1990. Sedgley, England.
Templeton's pub would be heaving soon. It was nearly eleven pm. Chad looked over his shoulder from his post by the open door. Already the floor had multiple wet patches from spilled drinks, and a spray of broken glass, which Archie wouldn't bother to clean until morning. There was no point. The eighties metal-playing jukebox attracted toque-wearing black-leather clad customers like flies. Motorcycles clustered on the curb outside the doors.
"Close the door for now, Chad," Archie called as he sent a pint of lager sailing down the bar toward a patron. "It's brass monkeys tonight."
Chad shrugged and closed the door behind him. It smelled better outside anyway. Cold had never bothered him. How could it, when he had a fire constantly burning in the pit of his stomach? Literally. You're a fire mage, Wendig, he thought. Surely your talents are worth more than a hundred quid a week? Surely you can find something better than bouncing? Chad watched his breath fog in the air and turned the steam into smoke just for the fun of it. The little opaque cloud drifted away and slowly evaporated.
A figure materialized at the end of the street. Delicate footsteps drew Chad's attention. A tall, slender shape stepped into the circle of light under a streetlamp. Young, female, and alone. Tight-fitting denim, tall tan leather boots and matching leather jacket and bag. A white scarf was snugged up to her nose and a matching thick-knit toque with a ball dangling from the end bobbed as she walked. A blond curl blew back from her cheekbone. She defined 'legs for days.'
Chad tucked his hands into his jean pockets and watched her approach through half-closed eyes. Was she actually intending to enter Templeton's? Chad raised his eyebrows. Templeton's hadn't hosted a patron like her in...well, ever. It was a watering hole for the sludge of Sedgley.
She reached the door next to Chad and put her hand out for the door handle. She didn’t look a day over eighteen.
Chad fought the urge to direct her to The Bat & Ball two blocks over. She wouldn't find any trouble in a theme pub frequented by retired cricket players. But Archie would kill him if he turned a patron away, especially a pretty one.
"ID, miss," he said.
"Oh, aren't you sweet," she said in a North American accent. She pulled off her white mittens, shot him a dizzying grin, and rummaged in her tan leather bag. She produced a wallet and then a driver's license.
He held the ID up under the single bulb hanging on a wire over the door. Angelica Butterfield. Twenty-two. A Canadian address.
"You're a long way from home, Angelica," Chad said, handing the ID back and swinging the door open for her with one arm. Why any tourist would ever visit the hamlet of Sedgley when London was less than an hour away was beyond him.
"Yes. In town on business," she said, dropping her wallet into her bag. "Brrrr, chilly tonight, isn't it?"
Angelica sailed past him, leaving behind a vanilla-scented cloud. Chad watched as she doffed the toque and approached the bar. A cascade of blond curls tumbled down over her shoulders. Every scarred face in the place turned…
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