“I’m so confused,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Why am I even in here?”
“Oh, that I can help with.” Rory reached along the high shelf to fetch the box of straws that had been pushed toward the back. He handed them to her. “Straws, ranch dressing, and Kay already took the coffee.”
She took the straws and stared at them as if she couldn’t focus.
“Oh, and um, here.” He reached down and pulled out a giant plastic tub labeled “Ranch Dressing” in bold red script. It was next to a box of “Real” mashed potato flakes.
“Thanks?” She slowly took the container and cradled it against her waist.
“I have to ask.” Rory pointed at the potatoes. “Real potatoes in a box?”
“Restaurant trick. For when people ask if we have real mashed potatoes, we can say yes.” She turned to walk out the door.
Rory held it open for her. The smell of fried food wafted past them.
On her way out of the storage room, she glanced up at him. “You shouldn’t be back here. It’s staff only. If Kay mentions it to my boss, I could get in trouble and I need this job.”
“I’ll be at the bar,” he said, following her from the storage room. The loud murmur of restaurant conversation drifted down the short hallway. “In case ya need me.”
“Don’t you mean you’ll need me? I’m the one working,” she said.
He followed her into the public area of the restaurant. “Of course.”
“I’ll bring you a menu.” She darted away from him with the dressing and straws, moving toward the wait station as if the sound of work reactivated her senses.
Rory frowned at the knife and slipped it through the wide leather belt on his kilt. If someone had cursed the knife, he didn’t want to use his magick directly on the weapon to hide it. Who knew what kind of adverse reaction that would have? At least this way, he could keep an eye on it and magickally make sure no one noticed it.
The Crimson Tavern was probably one of his favorite places to dine in town, though he hadn’t been there for months. There was something appealing about the Old English tavern feel. The wooden floors and tables looked as if they could have come from centuries past. That was if he didn’t take into account the very modern beer taps, flat-screen televisions, and neon signs.
Rory pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and waved his hand over it to dial his father.
“Rory? Are ya calling me from upstairs?” Murdoch asked by way of an answer.
“No, Da, I’m at the Crimson Tavern,” Rory said. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching him a little too closely. He recognized several of the locals, but no one who gave him a reason to worry.
“How…?” Murdoch mumbled something, and it sounded like he was talking to someone else. “We were coming up to find ya, laddie. We’re having trouble locating that cursed knife.”
Rory looked down at the blade he still held. “I have it.”
“He has it,” Murdoch said.
Rory went to an empty place at the bar and lifted his hand, spreading his fingers wide to indicate a short glass. He mouthed “whiskey” to the bartender.
“Why does he have it?” His ma’s voice came over the line. She must have been standing by her husband.
“Why did ya take the knife?” Murdoch repeated.
The bartender gestured toward at a bottle. Rory shook his head. The man pointed at a bottle higher on the shelf. Rory nodded. Into the phone, he said, “I didn’t.”
“But ya said ya took it.” His da sighed. “Did ya or didn’t ya take the cursed knife with ya?”
“I’m trying to explain.”
“I’m listening,” Murdoch stated.
Rory switched to Scottish Gaelic so his parents could understand him, but no one eavesdropping would. “When I stepped into my bedroom, I was transported to the Crimson Tavern and trapped in the storage room.” Rory had to pause in his explanation while his father repeated his words to his mother. “The knife came with me.”
The bartender slid a glass in front of him. He instantly took a long drink and enjoyed the familiar burn down his throat.
“Are ya sure ya haven’t been drinking anything with Raibeart?” Cait insisted.
“No, Ma.” Rory took another drink. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching him. The blade hadn’t cursed itself.
“He says no,” Murdoch repeated.
“I promised I’d call to check in, and I’m calling,” Rory said, not giving his father time to ask more questions. “Tell Ma I’m fine. I’m going to wait for Jennifer to get off her shift, and then I’m taking her somewhere safe so we can figure out what’s going on. I don’t want to disrupt her life more than I have to, and we’re not going to pull a Charlotte on her if she sees too much.”
Charlotte was an unfortunate example of what happened when they had to erase too many memories from a human. In the end, it had been a miracle that she’d survived the madness. Most humans were not so lucky.
“Bring her here,” Murdoch said.
“Oh, aye, good. We want to meet her,” Cait said.
“I was thinking the motel,” Rory replied, denying the request. He didn’t want to bring Jennifer into the full force of the MacGregor household.
“What did he say?” Cait demanded.
“Motel,” Murdoch answered.
“Tell him here is safer,” Cait said. “I want to meet her.”
“Your ma insists that here is safer,” Murdoch said.
“I’ll think about it,” Rory answered. “I have to go, Da.”
He hung up before they could say more.
A young girl came running by wielding a long French fry like a sword. She appeared to be a little younger than Jewel. Her brown eyes landed on his knife, and she grinned with the kind of fearless excitement only a child could express.
Rory dropped his arm over the blade to hide it from her. “I like yours better, little love.” He nodded at her fry sword. The girl giggled.
“Beatrix, get back here.” The girl’s mother came to grab Beatrix’s arm. The woman glanced at him and mumbled something like “sorry” before pulling the child back to their table.
Rory sipped the whiskey and watched Jennifer carrying a tray of sodas to one of her tables. Each one of her movements mesmerized him. Even without the cursed blade, she was a mystery he wanted to solve.
“Don’t bother,” the bartender said.
Rory turned to him in surprise.
“Many men have tried, and she’s shot them all down,” he said. “Jennifer’s not that kind of girl.”
Rory grinned. As a man, he liked the idea of a challenge. He held up his glass. “I’m going to need another one of these.”
Chapter Nine
Jennifer would have never thought she’d be happy to see a crazy man with a knife in the storage pantry. Rory MacGregor was a strange one, to be sure, but anything was better than going home to a possible intruder camping out in her home. She’d been worried about what she was going to do about that all night. The trailer no longer felt safe.