Page 46 of Wolf's Gambit

Now, I knew to make it sound like I was merely a girl with a free spirit exploring her independence at her own leisure. If they concluded I was on a gap year from college, then let them. I never said I was, and that also avoided the questions of where I was attending and what I was majoring in—two questions I didn’t know the answers to.

Both gap year and majors were things I needed to google one night, but now I knew how to use the terms in sentences. I also knew how to use a computer—well, more a smartphone than a computer. Living with the Anterrio Pack didn’t have the freedom of things like this. We were a pack and didn’t need that kind of technology.

However, the more I used it, thanks to a kind coworker who was careless with their mobile phone, I did a quick crash course in all things web-related. Not that the pack was ignorant or kept in the dark, we just didn’t need to know half the things humans wanted to know.

But we also didn’t live in the dark ages. We knew what technology was and enjoyed movies and music as much as the next person. But the incessant need to sit with a phone in your face almost every moment of the day was something we didn’t do. Or need.

Only Bale and his betas had cell phones in our pack. As I stood on the wooden promenade of the storefronts, I looked around for the bars. A larger structure in the center of the main street kept catching my attention, so I slowly made my way over to it.

On tiptoes, I peered through the high windows and saw many tables with chairs on top of them, a bar at the very end, and several large-screen televisions dotted around the room.

“You lost?”

Turning to the voice, I met the guarded look of a blonde, middle-aged woman who was eyeing me with amusement and wariness. “When does it open?” I asked her casually, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

“Ten minutes if you move your butt out of the door,” she said, gesturing to the door behind me.

Stepping aside, I watched as she unlocked the door and pushed it open. “You work here or you the owner?” I asked her with what I hoped was a friendly smile.

She didn’t turn again as she answered, letting the door close behind her, “You need work?”

Grabbing the door and following her inside, I spoke quickly, “Yes, I’ve worked in bars before. Not up front.” I hastily added, “Kitchen, glass washer, dishwasher, that kind of thing.”

Dumping the keys on the bartop, she reached behind her and flicked on the lights. “I have three dishwashers, and we only serve food on the weekend.”

Looking around, I took in the tables, counting twenty-two and five booths along the back. The floor was wooden, and I’d already heard the stickiness of it as I followed her to the bar area.

“Cleaner?” I asked.

Her bark of surprised laughter stunned me. “I have one. She’s lazy, though.”

“Fire her,” I answered, seeing my opportunity. “Hire me.”

“She’s me,” the woman said with a grin. “Maggie Dreaver, I own the place.”

Humans liked to shake hands, I learned. Holding out my hand, I introduced myself. “Zia Hopkins. You hiring?”

I winced as soon as I used Zia. I’d dropped the Ke from my name in the second town, but after the run-in yesterday, I was going to change it again. Habit had made me use Zia, and now I was stuck with it.

“Pretty name,” Maggie said as she took in my appearance. “You running from something, Zia?”

“No, ma’am.” Pretending to look around the bar again, I told her my well-executed lie. “Got the wanderlust bug. Doing a tour of the Rockies while I can.” Looking back at her, I gave a half shrug. “I won’t be here for long, so even if you just need a few weeks’ break from cleaning, I can help.”

Maggie studied me. “College in the fall?”

Again, I shrugged. “Maybe. My feet haven’t decided yet.”

Her smile widened. “My grandfather had the wanderlust bug. Grams said he walked the entire length of America and up and down too before he finally settled.”

I gave a nod of pretend understanding. “What stilled his feet?”

Maggie took her light jacket off and placed it on the bartop. “My dad,” she told me with a laugh. “Gramps went out on one of his walks,” she told me with air quotes over walks, “and when he came back, my dad was waiting to meet him for the first time.”

“I hear your first kid does that to you,” I lied easily.

“Dad was baby number three,” Maggie said with a wink. “We’re open six days a week and serve food Friday to Sunday. The pay is shit, the hours are shit, and I have a bad temper.”

Nodding as she spoke, I returned her earlier look of appraisal. “I talk little,” I told her. “I’ll stick to the back and do whatever you want me to. I’ll take over the cleaning at the end of the night. I bet it’s tough at the end of a long day of bar work to tidy and clean.”

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