ntly making her body vibrate. So better to spend another hour in human company—in one of the very rare places where people didn’t think she was a raving lunatic.
Which probably was because she hadn’t told anyone what brought her here, but it was good to feel normal again for an evening.
Or to feel as if the world was normal. As if everything was still exactly like what she’d learned in school. No secrets, no magic, no werewolves. No alien conspiracies.
Just a tiny bar catering to the tourists who came to hike and stopped in this sleepy, picturesque village for a day or two.
“Going for a hike tomorrow?” The man who’d watched her earlier had scooted closer. “It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?”
His English was nearly accent-free. He wore nice clothes—a suit that seemed a little out of place in this village, but she supposed some people never managed to leave their work at home.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said and smiled. Maybe he wasn’t quite her type—but surely it wouldn’t do any harm to play the part of a normal, definitely not crazy, American tourist for one evening. “It’s my first time in France. I love the mountains.”
He gave her a pleased smile, then waved the barkeeper over.
“In that case, you need to have a local drink. Two pastis, please, I insist.”
“Oh, I... thank you.” Chiara watched as the barkeeper poured a colorless liquor into a glass, then topped it up with cold water.
Immediately, the liquid turned into a swirling, cloudy white.
She’d already had two rum and cokes, which was about as much as she’d allow herself usually... But the drink did look interesting. And she was in France. And she might die tomorrow.
She gave the man another smile, this time genuine, as they clinked glasses.
And then she took a first sip—and sputtered.
“Licorice?”
The man chuckled. “Pastis,” he said. “It’s anise, actually. Do you like it?”
“I... don’t know,” Chiara said, trying to be diplomatic.
It tasted awful, actually. She liked trying new things—but she hadn’t expected this.
She took another careful sip. This time, she was prepared for the strange taste, but she still couldn’t help but grimace. It burned down her throat as she swallowed.
Medicine. That’s what it tastes like. Like a disgusting cough remedy.
“Not a fan?” the man asked. “I’m Lou, by the way.”
It was a really weird taste for a drink. On the other hand, her life had turned upside down, she’d been nearly bitten by a werewolf, she’d sold her car, quit her job, and followed a strange map across an ocean.
Maybe she was the sort of person who’d sit in French mountain bars sipping licorice liquor with strangers, and she just didn’t know it yet.
Carefully, she took another sip—and barely managed to keep from spitting it out.
If anything, it had gotten worse.
Apparently she wasn’t the sort of person to sit in a French bar and sip weird, medicine-flavored liquor. Maybe she should have expected that.
I’m not the interesting sort of weird. Sorry, Lou. I guess I won’t have a story for my grandchildren about the time I flirted with a handsome French stranger.
It was probably for the best. She was on a mission, after all. A mission that could change everything, if she’d just manage to stay focused on her job.
“Sorry.” She gave him an apologetic look. “It tastes like medicine.”
He chuckled. “That’s all right. Leaves more for me, right?”