“Ah ha! Got it! Told you I would. You owe me a drink.” Albert the Rouge dropped a very large broach on the table in front of Leila. She barely looked up at him, gaze focused on the jewels glittering in the tavern’s candlelight.
“Are you quite insane?” she asked, voice smooth.
“What?”
She gestured around them, to the rather rough crowd drinking and singing bawdy songs. “Because you must be insane to be flashing this around, in a place like this.” She scooped up the broach, giving it a quick look-over before tucking it into her pocket.
“Hey, that took all night to get!” Albert protested.
“And lucky for you, you actually got the right item,” Leila shot back. Then she sighed. “I supposed a deal is a deal.” She waved the barman over. “Whatever he likes.”
“Ooh, I’d like a Gnome’s Cup, please,” Albert said, sitting across from Leila and grinning at the barman. The barman raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Really?”
Albert grinned. “I’ve never had one. Heard it’s the real deal, gets you good and sloshed.” He leaned over the table, winking. “Sure I can’t offer you one?”
“I might try it later,” she said, smirking.
He shrugged, still leaning in close. “So, what’s the deal with that broach, anyway? What’s it to you?”
She squinted at him. “Why do you want to know?”
“Lady, I risked my neck to get that thing for you! I think I have a right to know what it is.”
“You didn’t risk anything. Their security was abysmal. I bet you were in and out of there in ten minutes.” She smirked again. “Unless your reputed prowess is just that – reputed.”
“Oh, I can give you a long list of references, sweetheart, if that’s what you want.” He actually waggled his eyebrows at her. “And if it was such an easy job, why didn’t you do it yourself?”
“Because-” she started, but the barman had returned with a smoking goblet, and she fell silent.
Albert nodded his thanks, and took a deep swig. Leila neatly dodged the spray of foam, spit, and alcohol that flew across the table, as Albert coughed and gasped for breath.
“What the hell is in that?” he said, fanning his tongue.
“Well, I think the gnomes keep the recipe well guarded.”
“For good reason. That stuff could be weaponized.”
Leila laughed a little. “That’s a thought…”
“Barman!” Albert bellowed over the din, “get me something drinkable!”
She stayed silent as Albert muttered about cursed gnomes and lamp oil, then downed a tankard of ale brought by the bemused barman.
“That’s better,” he sighed, slumping over the table. “Good old ale, drink of the gods, right?”
“It is rather good, after it sits for a while,” Leila replied, a strange smile on her face.
Albert didn’t notice. “So, why’d you need me? Besides for the obvious reason.” Anther wink.
“Let’s just say that they would have been expecting me,” Leila said, nodding to the barman to bring another draft of ale. “They assumed they only needed to defend against me.” Her smile was dark. “They were foolish to think I wouldn’t find a way around their little trick. And now that I have this,” she added, patting her pocket, “they are going to need a hell of a lot more to keep me away.”
Albert was half-way done with his second ale, and already she could see that his eyes were bright, and his hand unsteady.
“Great,” he said, belching. “Glad I could help.”
She leaned forward, running her hand along his arm. “I know another way you could help me.”
He lurched to his feet, his expression almost manic. “Knew you wan’ned me,” he slurred. “Who wouldn’t want all this?” He gestured to himself, stumbling slightly.
“Oh yes,” she purred, lightly grabbing his arm and steering him toward the door.
He mumbled happily as they left the tavern, and Leila led him down a dark alley.
“Come ‘ere,” he said, grabbing at her dress. “Ouf!”
Leila pushed him up against a wall, and leaned in close. “Oh, yes,” she said, her breath tickling his neck. “I can smell the ale, running through your blood. Not so much to be a problem,” she said, licking his neck, “but enough for me to have a little fun.” She sank her fangs into his neck, and drank deeply.
She’d always preferred her alcohol with a mixer, anyway.
Inspired by a writing prompt from Writing Prompt Generator.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020