Page 9 of On the Road

He immediately poofed into our room, making sure we had no choice but to look at him, meaning I definitely did not see Victor’s raised eyebrow or his pinched lips.

“Let me tell you all about the little-known cookie I have recently discovered.” Zee swept a hand through the air, then grabbed a nearby chair, spun it on its legs, and sat on it backward. “’Twas born long ago, in the human year of nineteen twelve, and has risen through the chocolatey, crunchy-cookie ranks to become the undisputed worldwide champion of cookies, decided by everyone with great taste. A cookie so delicious it might actually bring about world peace⁠—”

“It’s the Oreo,” Victor said.

All the dramatic air deflated out of Zee. He glared through narrowed eyes. “You, sir, are no fun. He’s definitely hangry.”

“What is this . . . hangry?” Victor grumbled. “Never mind. If you mention cookies one more time, I will take my tie and use it to gag you—in a decidedly unsexual way, before you so much as attempt to arouse me.”

Zee hesitated, probably wondering whether to poke the angry vampire bear some more. “Adam, wanna grab snacks from the bar while Fancy Fangs gets over his funk? Then we can come back here and top up his lordship on Type A or O or whatever blood type dragons are?”

My stomach grumbled. “Yeah, for sure.”

“Be careful,” Victor warned, as we ducked outside. “Our notoriety may not have spread this far but I’m sure our arrival will spark gossip.”

Zee closed the door, eager to be outside Victor’s grumpy radius.

The mist clung on, making every surface damp and the air smell like wet pine, but it wasn’t all bad. We were outside, in nature . . . naturing. So, like a real vacation?

We crossed the lot, avoiding puddles and divots, before arriving at the bar which didn’t seem to be much more than a patched-up cabin. Stickers marred its tiny dark windows but the big long bikes parked outside gleamed.

Zee went ahead, pushed open the door, then promptly closed it again. “You know, I think I saw a vending machine at the front desk. We should go back⁠—”

“We’re here now. Let’s—” I reached by him to push open the door but he grabbed my shoulders and peered into my eyes.

“This is where sunshine twinks get eaten alive, and not in the fun way. You feel me?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a bar.” Laughing him off, I wormed from his grip and pushed open the door. “We walked into Vampire Mansion, we brought down a sorcerer the size of a high-rise, and I once rode a werewolf . . .” My eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. Various retro signs covered the walls, and nicotine smoke left over from the 90s stained the hanging lights. Plenty of shadows crowded the corners, but the bar counter was well lit and packed from end to end with huge leather-jacket-clad men. Emblems on the back proclaimed them the WHITEACRE RIDERS.

“So much body hair,” Zee whispered, sticking close to my left arm.

Where the jackets ended at necks, wrists, and ankles, the body hair tufted. Beards mostly, but also a few man buns and mullets and a whole lot of hairy arms.

“It smells like diesel, masculinity, and found brotherhood,” Zee added.

The group must have heard him, because all of them turned and stared, perfectly timing it like a strange hairy dance troupe.

“Erm, hi.” I raised my hand in a small wave. “We’re uh . . . is there uhm . . . food?”

Zee gulped audibly. “I think we’re the food.”

The two biggest burliest men at the counter in front of us shimmied apart, creating a tiny gap between them. There definitely wasn’t room there for Zee and me. “You grab a table. I’ll order something to eat,” I told him.

“Ah yes, a spot by the door will be perfect for when we need to run for our lives.” He left my side and claimed the table nearest the exit.

Released from their synchronized staring, the group of men went back to chatting, picking up their conversations where they’d left off as though our arrival had been a minor blip.

I eyed the thin gap between the two hulking males. I could do this; it was just a little snug . . . and they seemed like nice people . . . mostly. A growl from my stomach reminded me why we were here and urged me on.

A few steps in and I squished myself between two of the biggest men I’d ever seen. After hailing the barman, I ordered bacon and pancakes from the pencil-scrawled menu, while the hairy duo took sips from their early-morning beers and glared from the corners of their eyes. This was fine, right? We were all friends here. There was no reason for anyone to be nervous.

“I like a good whiskey in the morning,” I said with a beaming smile. “Wakes me right up.”

The bushy eyebrows on the guy to my right climbed his forehead. He nodded at the barman and grunted, “Whiskey.”

“Oh, uh . . . I uhm.” I hadn’t meant for him to order me one.

Too late. The barman poured the whiskey and slid it over. “Five bucks,” he said.