Finnegan O'Gold's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Finnegan O'Gold wanted the Clover and Cask to be the heart of the grove, and tonight it was empty again. He stood behind his worn bar and watched three wanderers slow at his door, peer inside, then walk on toward the warm windows of the pub down the way. He knew that pub. McOlean's, with its glowing lamps and stained glass. His own place had gray boards and a sagging sign. He had run this bar for fifteen years, ever since someone stole his pot of gold. He studied every face that entered, hoping to spot the thief. But lately no faces came at all. He wiped a mug that was already clean. Old habit. A leprechaun's habits cling. The door creaked. A woman stepped in, quick and quiet, dreadlocks strung with beads and bone. Tina Laveau. She ran the junk shop across the grove, the one crammed with objects people walked past without knowing what they were. Finnegan had traded her odd things over the years. She never wasted words. "Slow night," she said. "Every night." He set down the mug. "They pass me by, Tina. Every wanderer in the grove. I don't know how to pull them in." Tina looked around. At the dust. At the empty stools. She reached into her bag and set a small vial on the bar. Golden honey glowed inside, warm as a lit window. "Enchanted honey," she said. "Bees in it. Real ones, once." "What does it do?" "Warms what it touches." She slid it closer. "Not the drink. The room." Finnegan turned the vial in the lamplight. "How much?" Tina named a price. It was most of what he had. He paid it anyway. The door creaked again. A young man came in, flannel shirt, tired eyes, a guitar case on his back. Dylan Mercer. Finnegan had never served him, and he checked the face out of old reflex. Not the thief. Just a musician looking for a room. "You serving?" Dylan asked. "Sit," Finnegan said. He unstoppered the vial. He dabbed one drop on the cold hearth, one on the bar, one on the sill. The honey sank into the wood. The lamps brightened. A smell rose, sweet and thick, like a kitchen after baking. The gray boards seemed to soften. Warmth spread through the room. Dylan stopped in the doorway and breathed it in. "This place feel different," he said flatly. "Feels lived in." He set his case down and took a stool. Outside, two of the wanderers who had passed slowed, turned, and came back. They pushed the door open, following the smell. Tina watched them file in. She picked up her coins and stood. "Full room now," she said. "Warm rooms bring everyone." She paused at the door. "Everyone. Watch who comes." Then she was gone, and the Clover and Cask was full for the first time in years.