Page 8 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

The club looked less exciting during the day. Pleather benches needed cleaning, floors needed mopping, and the decor was garish in the afternoon light. I walked down the central staircase, my black nails shining pleasingly in the light. Attwater was correct; Gatlin was at the bar with an empty lowball glass in front of him beaded with condensation. Drake was nowhere to be seen, but our bar manager, a haint named Francis, was restocking the bar while chatting with Gatlin.

Francis took a deep breath as I approached, grabbing the bar to steady himself. “I know I shouldn't enjoy how upset you get after dealing with the councilman, but it is so delicious.” He sighed contently, my frustrations providing him a hearty snack.

I rolled my eyes. “I am so glad my feelings for that predator give you such joy.”

Gatlin revolved on his barstool to face me when I slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, but I could see the confusion on his face. “Why is he enjoying your…?”

“Her emotions?” Francis supplied. “Because I am a poltergeist.”

“I thought poltergeists were constructs made by people that lashed out when they were upset?” Gatlin quoted, no doubt, thanks to his sister.

“Yes and no. A poltergeist is a haint, a haunt or spirit, that feeds off suppressed emotions. Usually, they are negative.” Francis took Gatlin’s cup and dumped the half-melted ice in the sink. “Just like humans prefer a type of drink over another”—he wiped up the puddle in front of Gatlin— “some poltergeists enjoy the different depths of certain emotions.”

Gatlin looked at me and I smiled back, knowing he was trying to puzzle out what emotion I was suppressing.

“I,” Francis continued, “love the taste of female dissatisfaction. Males are all well and good, but there is an edge, a tartness, to a woman’s displeasure I enjoy. I’m a passive feeder, so I only have to be in the room to enjoy.”

“So, a nightclub is the perfect place to grab a meal?” Gatlin surmised.

Francis nodded.

“Having a poltergeist bartender comes with its perks,” I remarked, gesturing for him to show Gatlin.

Francis waved a hand to the mirrored wall of liquor behind him. All at once, every bottle lined up perfectly at the same distance from the edge on each shelf. “Poltergeists are telekinetic when fed properly, and we are handy to have around when you need a ladder.”

“I guess you are… irritated with this councilman?” Gatlin queried.

“I am. Attwater is unprofessional and speaks on things he has no business talking about.” I nodded to Francis, who grabbed another lowball glass.

Gatlin appeared to be digesting what I had said, and I waited in strained silence while Francis gathered the ingredients to make me a Lavender Dream. Francis epitomizes the perfect mixologist; his movements are practiced and swift. He used his powers to grab the Fenimore gin from behind him while he grabbed bottles of lavender, lemon simple syrup, and lemon juice. I focused on him adding the ingredients to a shaker rather than staring at Gatlin.

He’s so handsome, and I know I make him uncomfortable. He’s wearing another button-down shirt, white, with black dress slacks and black shoes. I wonder how he will react to his new wardrobe when we get home.

“Here you go, boss,” Francis said, placing the lavender drink in front of me and snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Thank you,” I replied, leaving the decorative sprigs of lavender in the drink.

Gatlin swiveled on his stool. “Was he being petty?”

“Who? The councilman?” I sipped my drink, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes.” Gatlin’s eyes bored into my own.

“No…” I trailed off, thinking about how much I wished to reveal.

Francis, seeming to understand my dilemma—perhaps he could taste the shift in my emotions—exited the bar, cutting a path through the tables to the kitchen.

I did my best to appear nonchalant, curving my lips into a beguiling smile. “He makes personal remarks, which is ridiculous. What does a Bloody Bones know about being a Boo Hag?” I sipped my drink some more. “He only knows what he’s seen. Many of my kind are petite, pale, silent creatures. He’s part of a group of supernaturals who feel that we are adapting too much to human sensibilities. It’s foolish; I am female. I feed off lifeforce. I know the truth of what my people are. I am a Boo Hag.”

Gatlin remained silent, and I wondered what he was thinking. There was more to it than that, the situation with Attwater, but this relationship was still new. If later he needed to know more about the loathsome councilman, then I would tell him.

I finished my drink, sliding my glass away from myself before standing. “Are you ready?”

Gatlin rose to his feet. “Yes. And you’re right.” He avoided my gaze. “You are what you are, and he has no right to comment on it.” He stepped in front, leading us to the exit.

I followed him out of the club, feeling strangely encouraged by his sentiment. I know better than to get my hopes up, and yet…

My black SUV was idling at the curb. Isaac, my driver, held the door open for Gatlin and me.

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