“Solomon Nememiah?”
He jerked his head in the direction of the inquirer, a man with tan skin, tan pants and a black Ravi Shankar tee shirt with long sleeves and three long slits across the torso that were evenly spaced like claw marks. He was medium height with strong facial bone structure, brown eyes and hair cut so close to the scalp it was impossible to tell its actual color. But by far the most striking thing about him was the no-nonsense expression he wore. The guy wore a presence that screamed, “I am not a pussy.”
“Yeah?”
“I hear you’ve been requesting to speak with someone in a position of authority.”
“And would you be that guy?”
Ragnal’s face wore a ghost of a smile, but it didn’t change the hard look one bit. “What do you think?”
Sol met the confrontational gaze eye to eye, but knew without asking that the fellow was altogether a different sort than he’d encountered since arriving in that godsforsaken place. He got to his feet so that the newcomer wouldn’t be looking down on him. Literally.
“It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”
The ghost of a smile grew slightly bigger. “How’s that?”
“You’re dressed. I’m not.”
Ragnal’s eyes drifted down to Sol’s bare legs and feet. Then he put back his head and laughed. “Yes. You’re one of mine all right.” Sol had no idea how to respond to that, but his eyes narrowed. Ragnal’s laughter ended in a sigh, a smile, and a shake of the head. “What would you like to wear? Never mind. Just think about your preference.”
Before Sol could ponder the bizarre instruction, he had, in fact, formed an image in his mind of what he would like to be wearing – his favorite old jeans that had been washed so many times they were buttery soft, the ones with a hole in the knee for character, a plain white tee shirt, and coffee-brown Ropers. He knew the instant his clothes had changed because he no longer felt grass between his toes, no longer felt a breeze ruffling his, um, skirt, and he did feel the familiar comfort and security of having his package supported. Even though he knew what he’d find, he looked down for confirmation.
Yes. Those were his favorite weekend jeans and his broken-in boots. He passed a large hand over his chest and abdomen reveling in the feel of the tee that covered his upper body. To his mind there was nothing better than the freshness and classlessness of a plain white, soft fresh cotton tee.
He didn’t understand how physics worked in hel, if that’s where he was, but he did understand saying thank you to someone when they did you a good turn. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” The guy nodded once. “I assume you have something to say? Would you like to stand, sit, walk?” Ragnal cocked his head, tilted his chin up as he looked at Sol and said, “Never mind. I know the answer.”
In less than a blink of an eye, Sol found himself sitting on a leather barstool in front of a well-aged oak bar, being handed his favorite long neck by a kindly-looking bartender who winked when he set it down. Sol swiveled around to take a read on his environment. Old vampire hunter habits never seem to fade away. There were only three people in the bar. Himself, the bartender, and a yet-to-be-named companion.
“I’m Ragnal.”
“Just Ragnal?”
“Yes.”
“It seems you already know my name.”
Ragnal gave a slight nod. “What I don’t know is why you’ve been causing such a ruckus.”
“I need to get out of here.”
“I see. And where do you want to go?”
“Back.”
“Back?”
“Yes. You know. Back to where I was before I was here.”
“Oh.” Ragnal paused before adding, “I see.”
The bartender walked to the end of the bar and disappeared around the corner as he slung a damp towel over his shoulder. Sol thought that was a nice realistic touch. The guy must have gone to the Elia Kazan school of acting.
Ragnal grasped the long neck that sat in front of him. It was covered with the telltale condensation caused when glass-bottled beer is chilled in ice. “So this is your favorite, huh?” He took a sip and pursed his lips. “Hmmm. Not bad.”
Sol looked at his own beer. He liked the way it looked sitting in front of him, but he just didn’t have a desire to reach for it. “So. About going back?”