Imprisoned Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,35
portal, finding himself in London. This was before he had learned how to transport himself magically, and he ended up having to call mum and dad for help from a phone booth in Central London. The guy who owned the portal hadn’t forgiven him for the accident, and ended up taking his money and clothes as payment. I can’t help but smile, just remembering him hobbling up the stairs, covered in dust and dirt as we all laughed. That was Peyton’s past though, and no matter how much I wish it, mum and dad can’t just come and save me from this. I’m on my own here, whether I like it or not.
I walk across the street, ducking and moving between drunk people until I come to a stop outside the pub. The old couple sat on a bench outside gives me a hostile look, no doubt taking in my leather clothing and mussed up appearance and wondering what the hell someone so young is doing at a place like this. For a moment I wonder if they know somehow, if they’re onto me, agents sent by the gods of justice… and I have to force myself to calm down. If I start seeing enemies everywhere I go, I’ll never make it to France with my sanity intact. I steel myself for a moment before pushing the door open, and the sound of heavy jukebox music immediately greets me, along with the voices of drunken patrons.
Ignoring the heavy smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke, I walk across the plush, red, patterned carpet to the dark wood bar, where there are three men sitting enjoying a smoke and beer. They don’t even look my way, completely happy to enjoy their drink, and I don’t blame them. I’d like to end up like them when I’m older, just happy to sit with my drink in a random pub, letting go of all the worries of the day. Instead, I’ve now got to worry about staying alive somehow, and the possibility that I may never live to have another night out on the town is feeling more real by the second. I slide into one of the seats, waiting for the old man with long grey hair and a mischievous grin to come over to me as he dries a glass with an old tea towel.
"You don't look like my usual clientele, lassie," the man says, his thick Scottish accent hard to miss. He sweeps me up and down with his eyes, not looking at me luridly, but seeming curious nonetheless.
"You don't sound like the common Irish riff raff you'd expect to find in here," I respond, hoping I come off sounding more bold than I feel. This guy seems like the type to pitch me out on the street for looking at him the wrong way, and out of the corner of my eye, I can feel the gazes of some of the other patrons on me.
The man laughs, setting the glass down on the counter behind him and tossing the tea towel aside. He grins at me, and I can see my snappy comeback has been enough to earn his respect in a matter of moments.
"You have some balls, little girl,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron. “I guess the rumour about redheads and their fiery attitudes must be true.”
“I guess so,” I agree, crossing my arms. “Sometimes, at least.”
“What drink can I get for you?" the bartender asks, leaning forward against the bar and looking at me with an intrigued expression on his face.
"Surprise me," I say with a big grin that makes him laugh as he goes off to make me a drink. If I want any chance of getting through the portal without losing all my money, I’m going to have to make this guy like me, and besides… a stiff drink sounds great right about now. Letting myself relax a little, I pull my bag off my shoulder and place it on the empty stool next to me before opening it up and pulling out some cash. I grab a handful of nuts from a little bowl on the bar and chuck them in my bag for Kit, hoping that will keep him happy for a little bit. There’s a low grumbling sound and movement among my other clothes, followed by a telltale crunching noise. Not wanting anyone to get a glimpse of the goblin, I do the bag back up before putting it