CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

As Scarlet walked through the door of the small dive bar, she knew right away that it was a mistake. A dozen or so locals sat slumped over the bar, big burly men, and they all turned and stared as the door closed behind her.

The bartender looked up, too, as if wondering what a girl like her was doing in a place like this. It was a disgusting little place, fluorescent lights flashing, a broken pinball machine off to one side, a small pool table missing balls. The bar looked more like a living room than a bona fide establishment. It was late, she realized, and clearly these men were deep into their drinking. She could sense the dark energy, and a part of her wanted to turn and run.

But another part of her was desperate. She needed water, food—she didn’t know what. Something was happening to her body, and she could hardly think straight.

Scarlet rushed to the bar, breathing hard, and flagged down the bartender.

“Water,” she gasped. “I need water. Please.”

He warily filled a glass wit