Messenger's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels by Heather Killough-Walden Page B

combination of sweat, perfume, spilled ale, woodsmoke, and chips, or French fries, as they would have been called by Gabe’s brothers.
    Gabriel smiled and let the door swing shut behind him. This was just how he liked it. He stood there a moment and allowed his vision to adjust to the dim light and chaos, and as he did, someone called his name.
    He turned to find Stuart’s ancient and arrow-straight form heading through the crowd toward him. “Black, yae bugger, yae’re back!”
    Gabriel smiled at his old friend and met him halfway.
    “Aye, let me buy you a drink,” he told the old man. Stuart nodded and clapped him on the back, never one to turn down a free drink even though he already held a half-filled mug in his right hand. They wove their way through the undulating crowd and sidled up to the bar. The man and woman team behind the counter recognized Gabriel at once.
    “Gabe!
Dè a tha thu ris?
” the man asked in Gaelic, his Hebridean accent thick. He wasted no time in topping off a fresh mug and handing it to Gabriel, who took the drink with a nod and a grateful smile.
    “
Fada ’nurcomain
, Will,” Gabriel replied, also in Gaelic. “It’s good to see ya.” Will was the barkeep at the Caorann. He was also the hotel’s owner.
    The woman behind the bar was Will’s sister. She winked at Gabriel and he gave her an appreciative nod as well before raising his glass and downing half its contents in one long pull. It wasn’t easy for an archangel to get drunk. But he’d had years of practice.
    “Wha’ are you doin’ up here anyway, Burns?” Gabriel turned and asked his old friend. Stuart’s fishing boat and cottage were in Harris, not far from Gabriel’s.
    “Same thing yae be doin’, Black. Havin’ a drink.” Stuart then downed what was left in his own mug and plopped the empty container on the counter with a flourish that would have resounded loudly if it hadn’t been for the noise level in the pub. “Nae pay up an’ git me tha’ beer yae promised.”
    Gabriel laughed and tossed several notes on the bar. The two refilled their mugs and made their way to a table near the hearth where many of the revelers had more or less evacuated because they were dancing and the heat from the fire was too much for them. Gabriel and Stuart sat and Gabe leaned back against his chair, taking it all in.
    “I saw an angel coom in ’ere aboot twentae minutes ago, Black,” Stuart said, gaining Gabriel’s attention. “Yae’d’ve lost yer nuts if yae’d seen ’er. The wee lass was jus’ what ye’re always describin’ as yer perfect soul mate an’ wha’ no’.” His bright blue eyes glittered like the eyes of a man much younger and his smile was mischievous.
    “Oh?” Gabriel’s brow rose. “Why’d you no’ buy her a drink, then?”
    Stuart laughed, the sound like a pen scratching parchment. “I dinnae think she much cared for the a’mosphere.” He laughed again and shook his head. “She did ’er business with Will—Juliette, ’er name was—an’ then she sho’ upstairs withoo’ further ado.”
    Gabriel considered this a moment and found that his gaze wandered to the archway that led to a stairwell and the Caorann’s tavern rooms up above.
Juliette . . .
It sounded like rain in the desert. Like a warm fire on a bitter winter’s night.
    Gabriel’s gaze darkened thoughtfully on the empty staircase. Then he raised his mug with one hand and flagged down a passing server with the other.
    * * *
    Juliette rolled over on the lumpy, hard mattress and glared at the ceiling. The Caorann’s rooms sported paper-thin walls barely made livable by ten-year-old wallpaper that had definitely seen better days. There were three lamps in the room, one of which didn’t work at all and another of which made a strange crackling noise when clicked on. There was no TV, no Internet connection to speak of—again—and the only bathroom on the second floor was shared by all six of the tavern’s available