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“Get another bottle ready,” Julie called, voice raised over the noise of the bar, “for the couple at the corner table. Cheapest drink we have.”
“Cheap?” It was Braden’s first time on the job, and Julie was showing him the ropes. “For the swanky chap with the sunglasses?”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “And his husband or friend or whatever who looks like he walked out of a gay Jane Austen novel.”
“Another bottle for them?”
“Yep,” Julie confirmed. “The one they have now is almost empty. And it doesn’t look like they’re planning to head home any time soon. Trust me, they’ll want another.”
“And that makes… how many?” Braden wasn’t one to judge other people’s alcohol consumption (probably a good thing, if he was going to be working at a bar), but there was still such a thing as too much, and he was fairly sure the couple in question had crossed that line at least twenty minutes ago. And they’d already been at it when he showed up for his shift. “Haven’t they already—”
Julie shook her head, fiercely enough that he stopped talking. She slid the Ring for a Drink bell to the front of the counter, then beckoned Braden towards the back room. He followed, bewildered.
“Don’t think about it,” she said when they were in relative quiet. “Seriously. You’ll just freak yourself out.”
“What?”
“Those two…” Julie made a helpless gesture. “They aren’t… natural.”
Braden hadn’t taken her for a homophobe. “What do you mean?” he demanded.
“I mean…” she sighed. “You know how I said to get them a bottle of the cheap stuff?”
“Yeah?” Braden was confused again. “Are you sure about that? They don’t seem like the sort for it.”
“They aren’t.”
“Then why…”
Julie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to have a headache tonight and it’ll be your fault.”
“Um,” said Braden.
“I said not to think about it. Never mind.” She sighed again. “What I’m saying is, you could give them a bottle of raw vinegar and it would still come out Malbec.”
He blinked. “What.”
“And then they drink, like, a dozen bottles and they’re still conscious.”
Damn. Braden swallowed. He was beginning to see why she’d tried to stop him from doing the maths earlier.
“And,” Julie went on relentlessly, “when they leave, they’re not drunk anymore. At all. Usually, anyway.”
Braden wondered vaguely if this was some kind of prank-the-new-coworker game. Julie really didn’t seem like the type, but… he fumbled back to the most impossible of her claims. “How do you even know it’s Malbec? We give them the bottle, it’s not like we can tell what’s inside other than by the label.”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“Tell me!”
“Hah. Just…” She shook her head. “You’re working all evening, right?”
“Yeah.”
“When they head out, go clean up the table. Gather the bottles they left and… check if they’re actually empty.”
“Huh? Of course they are. We both saw them drinking.”
“Just check. All right? You’ll see what I mean.” Julie hesitated. “Look, I know it sounds weird. Like I said, it’s really best not to think about it too much.”
“You aren’t making it easy to not think about it,” Braden pointed out.
“I know. And it’s a lot for your first day. Just… be polite to them, okay? Nod and smile and wish them a good day, and you’ll probably have the best month of your life. It’s worth it.”
Braden wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. Was he actually supposed to believe that a pair of… what, posh magical alcoholic cryptids who were apparently really good at holding their liquor... were regulars at a little bar in London?
And yet, Julie’s expression was dead serious.
The bell out front rang, then, and he peered out to see that at least Julie’s initial prediction had been on point; the couple were ready for another bottle.
Well, Braden supposed, grabbing a bottom-shelf vintage of the closest thing he could find to vinegar, if this was all some joke he’d find out soon enough.
And if it wasn’t… well, then he’d find that out too.