The Veterinarian

Chapter 6 of Trickster God

The Veterinarian

  Outside was darkness, drizzle, a cold wind. Inside O'Grady's Bar and Grill was laughter and conversation, good drink and good food. No one was scheduled to perform that night, but some patrons had just finished a rousing if slightly off-key version of “The Moonshiner”.

  Sophi MacTire walked into this scene, dragging her tiredness and the sadness in her hazel eyes with her. She sat not at her usual table but on a stool at the bar.

  “Not meeting friends tonight, Doctor Sophi?” Tim O'Grady asked as he poured her a foaming Guinness without even being asked.

  “No. I'm sure they're all busy. Just too tired tonight to go home and cook something for myself.”

  O'Grady handed her a menu.

  “Rough day at the clinic?”

  “Pretty rough. Had to put down two animals today, one a beagle pup just six months old that got loose and hit by a car. Too crushed to save. The little girls who owned him were both in tears.”

  “And the other animal?”

  “An old cat. She had a lot of stuff shutting down, but mostly she was just too old to keep going. At least it was her time to go.”

  Sophi glanced at the menu she practically knew by heart, then sighed.

  “Okay, I'll have the Irish stew, some soda bread with lots of not good for you butter, and the house salad. I'd order a second Guinness, but I do have to drive home.”

  A short while later O'Grady handed her the salad.

  “It'll be a few for the rest of it.”

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  The resonate slightly accented voice came from behind Sophi's right shoulder. She turned and saw an attractive red-headed man with odd amber eyes that held a mischievous gleam. Sophi looked him over for a moment.

  'Is he human? Not Sidhe. But a crazy aura, dark shot through with flame red, yet no feeling of illness or death about him.'

  Out loud she said, “I don't own the stool and I'm not expecting anyone. Help yourself.”

  He frowned at the curtness of her answer but sat down next to her.

  “I'm Lars Deason. Originally from Norway if you are wondering about the accent.”

  “I wasn't wondering.”

  Sophi looked over at the man, realizing how rude she must sound.

  “Sorry, Mr. Deason. I am Sophi MacTire. I'm a Vet, the animal treating kind, and I've had kind of a bad day.”

  “Did not mean to intrude on your bad day, Miss MacTire. But you did look like you could use some cheering up.”

  The apology was accompanied by a charming grin that made Sophi feel even worse about her rudeness. To her surprise she found herself relating her tale of sad events at the Clearwater Animal Clinic. At some point during her explanation they moved from Mr. Deason and Miss MacTire to Lars and Sophi.

  “It is obvious you are a woman who cares, Sophi. I like that in a woman.”

  “I would think you would like that in a man or a woman.”

  “Ouch! I seem to be saying all the wrong things tonight. Let's start over. I am Lars Deason, originally from Norway, and I would like to share some conversation, at the very least, with you this evening.”

  He said this with a wry grin that made Sophi laugh.

  “OK, Lars Deason from Norway, I shall agree to converse with you awhile.”

  Sophi's order arrived. O'Grady handed Lars a menu.

  “And you Sir?”

  “Her Guinness looks good. I'll have one. And the Irish Stew and soda bread, some cheesy steak fries, some steak to go with the fries, fried mushrooms...”

  'Eats like a Sidhe all right. Maybe some other kind of Faerie man. With my luck he'll turn out to be a Glanconer. But the Love Talkers are said to have black eyes, not amber.'

  “So,” Lars said when O'Grady had taken his order, poured his beer, and moved on to another patron. “Are you spoken for or do I have a chance?”

  “Kind of a fast worker, Lars, aren't you. I'm not spoken for, but that doesn't mean I'm looking.”

  Lars downed his brew in one huge gulp, then held up his mug to show he was ready for another.

  “Fast talker, hard drinker,” Sophi said.

  Lars grinned and Sophi could not help but smile back. They chatted about the weather and coming elections for awhile. His food came and Sophi excused herself to go to the restroom. When she came out, Tim O'Grady was waiting outside the door for her.

  “Who's tending the bar?”

  “Robbie just came in. He can handle it for awhile. Sophi. Be careful. I don't think your new friend is human.”

  “I don't think so either. Not one of the Daoine Sidhe though. Something else.”

  “Something darker maybe.”

  After Sophi had returned to her half eaten meal, Lars touched her right hand and lightly fingered her silver ring with the engraved oak tree. At his touch a heat spread through her that ended up in intimate places.

  'Wow. Some powerful romantic mojo. Could easily end up spending the night with him if I gave into it.'

  For a moment she contemplated whether the implied pleasure might be worth the risk. But she did not even know what the risks were.

  “Interesting ring,” Lars said with a sly smile.

  She noticed the flames that seemed to dance in his mischievous eyes.

  “You know, Lars Deason, I have a feeling that you know exactly what my ring implies. And I have another feeling about you.”

  “That you want to go somewhere and spend a night of uninhibited passionate lovemaking with me?”

  “No. I have the feeling that less than a week ago you were an eleven year old boy offering a friend of mine Faerie wishes.”

  The flames in his eyes flared up, then he smiled a wry smile.

  “Guilty. Does this mean I cannot go home with you, Sophi MacTire.”

  “Definitely not! If it makes you feel better, Loki Laufeyjarson, I am tempted. But I've spent too many nights indulging in Faerie pleasures that lead nowhere. I want more now.”

  “Marriage, children, a home in the suburbs?” he asked.

  “There's nothing wrong with wanting those things. Just can't seem to meet Mr. Right. Keep running into Faeries and Gods instead.”

  “Well, besides a night you'd never forget, I could have given you one of your wishes. A God's carnal touch is always fertile.”

  She stared at him, obviously surprised.

  “So unlike the Sidhe. I hope your son takes after his mother rather than you in that respect. I'm pretty sure he slept with Bridget over there the other night.”

  She nodded towards the perky dark-haired waitress taking orders on the other side of the pub. Loki studied the young girl intently.

  “She seems to have dodged the bullet. She's not pregnant.”

  “Good. Bridget doesn't need a half-Faerie child. And I don't need a godling.”

  “He'd have been a hero. But you need to have your children with someone you love deeply who also loves you. Some free advice, Sophi. It is not the Norns or the Fates who stand between you and your domestic dreams. The problem lies within you.”

  “How so?”

  “You turn to Faerie love, shallow and temporary though it may be, because you trust them. When a human man gets close he reminds you of your stepfather. You need to deal with your fear and anger before you can truly love a man.”

  Sophi stared at the God, anger in her eyes. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she could not because she knew he told the truth.

  “So, what do I do?”

  “I don't have the answer to that, Sophi. You'll have to find it yourself. But I do have a message to give to my son.”

  “I suppose you want me to tell him you are innocent of stealing from him.”

  Loki stood up. His physical appearance did not change, but some kind of damper to his power and beauty was lifted and he was revealed as the God that he was. Sophi struggled to avoid the impulse to kneel before him. She did stand up and bow. Tim O'Grady crossed himself then poured himself a Jameson, neat. Several frightened patrons asked for their checks, paid, then hurried from the place. Afterwards they could not remember why they had done so.

  “I am innocent, of this theft at least! And I would dearly like to know who is behind this theft and these lies.”

  His words echoed throughout the pub, although later only Sophi and Tim O'Grady would remember them. Then the Lord of Trickery and Fire was gone.

  O'Grady, a second whiskey shot in his hand, came over by Sophi.

  “Who was that? Do you know?”

  “Worse than a Faerie. A God and not the nicest one either. You've just had the privilege of serving Loki a brew and a meal.”

  “I've just had the privilege of being stiffed by Loki. He didn't pay his tab.”