by O J Barré
Reaching the kitchen, she stepped aside to let a couple with two terrified kids go ahead of her. Lugh slid past them, shouting orders to the cooks and servers about turning off ovens and clearing away knives and sharp utensils. One of them hefted containers of water onto an old-fashioned dumb waiter, another gathered candles and fresh provisions. Emily hoped they wouldn’t be down there long enough to need them.
The kitchen was full of frightened customers. Lucille and another waitress waved them downstairs, while Lugh disappeared into the dining room. Had he gone to rescue the money from the till? More likely to search for stragglers. Emily eyed the manic patrons jostling through the cellar door. She would take her chances with the storm.
The wind overpowered the siren, which still persisted, its pitch more urgent. She spied Lugh in the corner of the middle dining room, speaking to an elderly gentleman. Lugh motioned her over.
“Would you help Mr. Peterson?” She nodded and he yelled to the white-haired gent, “I’ll find your nephew. Ms. Hester will take you to the back.”
The roar took on a shrieking edge. The walls shook and the windows rattled.
“Hurry!” Emily shrilled and swept Mr. Peterson to the kitchen, as gently as possible in the circumstances. She delivered the elderly patron to the end of the dwindling line and a server’s capable hands, then ran to find Lugh steering a young man across the dining room.
“Go,” he commanded, pointing to the kitchen.
Metal screeched on the roof overhead. Emily waited a beat, then shoved through the swinging doors. A waitress waved frantically from inside the cellar.
The screech changed to an ominous sucking noise—the roof being dragged from the building.
Druid Cellar
T he men burst through the kitchen doors. Together, the three of them tumbled into the cellar, almost knocking the waitress down the steps. Lugh slammed the steel door, securing it with the deadbolt. He sagged against it as the young man helped his uncle downstairs.
Emily let her eyes adjust to the dim light. She hated basements. Nasty things lived underground in the dark, of this she was certain. But at least the awful noise had stopped. The steel and concrete blocked the sound.
“Ladies first,” Lugh gestured to the stairs.
Acutely aware of him behind her on the narrow landing, Emily felt for and found the handrail. Steeling her nerves, she started down, shivering when Lugh’s breath feathered her hair.
The room under Jocko’s was remarkably large, its walls and drop ceiling lined with recessed lighting that gave the illusion of daylight. But Emily was uneasy. She was in a cellar, no matter how pleasant.
Employees were busy unstacking chairs around tables that dotted the room. Wide-eyed children cowered behind adults with cell phones to their ears, most grumbling of no service.
The smell of pizza wafted to her and Emily’s hunger returned with a vengeance. She quickly pinpointed the source—a table in the far back corner. Behind it, Lugh shoveled steaming slices onto paper plates.
She made a beeline for him and took the plate he offered with a smile. Thanking him, she promptly bit in and sank into a chair at the adjoining table.
“Mmm. Good pie,” she mumbled around the piping-hot mouthful. That earned her a proud smile and nod from Lugh. Between the dark lock of hair that tumbled over one brow, and the smile that transformed his enigmatic face, Emily was undone. “You own this place, don’t you?”
A twinkle sprang into the dark eyes. “Why, yes, I do. Welcome to Jocko’s Pizza.”
Emily smiled and glanced at the other patrons. “Why is no one eating?”
Shrugging, Lugh announced to the room in general, “Hot pizza on the house, come and get it.”
Chairs scraped as people shoved away from the tables. The elderly man and his nephew, plus the family Emily had almost run over in the parking lot, moved to form a line. An older, affluent couple and a group of Emory students of varying shapes, sizes, and nationalities shuffled to join them. The rest remained seated.
When the patrons were fed, the kitchen and wait staff grabbed their own plates and huddled at a table in the back. Lucille made the rounds, filling glasses to the brim with crunchy ice. Another server poured soda, tea, and water.
Lugh slid into the chair opposite Emily’s and studied her with a curious expression.
“What?” she asked, around a mouthful of pizza, her internal hotty alarm clanging.
“You’re different than I imagined when I first met you here with Mitchell.”
Emily stopped chewing. Frissons danced up and down her spine. “How so?”
He studied her face, then gave the rest of her a once-over. “For one thing, the deer in the headlights look is gone.”
Emily chuckled. “I’d just gotten in from L.A. and was pretty shell-shocked. What’s the other thing?”
He leaned in so that his nose grazed her hair and his lips were millimeters from her neck. Lugh inhaled slowly, as if sampling her scent. Sensual, searching, and oddly familiar, the move caught Emily unaware. Goosebumps danced along the nape of her neck as a memory of a roaring fire stirred, then Lugh pulled away and it faded.
“God, you smell good,” he damn-near sighed. “And that other thing? You’re even sexier than I’d thought.”
Before Emily could choke out a response, Lugh chucked her under the chin and walked away. Attraction warred with confusion. At Wren’s Roost, Lugh consistently kicked her ass, showing no mercy. Yet today he’d done nothing but flirt.
Emily watched him mingle and work the room, noting his quick smile and solicitous manner as he spoke with the other displaced customers. Charisma and charm rode him well.
Her heart beat faster when she thought of the way Lugh had breathed in her scent, as if to inhale her. It was intoxicating, like nothing Emily had ever experienced. The man was a dichotomy. One she would enjoy unraveling. Assuming he wasn’t married. Or otherwise taken. But surely he wouldn’t flirt so brazenly if he was?
She munched her pizza and studied the crowd around the surprisingly-cozy room. The adults sat at tables, eating and chatting amongst themselves. Most looked comfortable and reconciled to spending time in the cellar of Jocko’s. From the corner, music played, cycling through oldies from their grandparents’ era.
Lugh approached a group of children with playing cards and coloring books. Eager for a distraction, the younger kids fell upon the coloring books, while the older ones commandeered the cards.
Emily was no expert on children, but these were well-behaved given the circumstances. She thought of Brian and wondered if Lugh’s nephew was safe.
When he neared, she asked, “Is Brian at school?”
He turned with a solemn smile. “You’ve met my nephew?”
She nodded and Lugh gave her an odd look. “My cell reception sucks like everyone else’s, but I reached him on the landline before that went down. He got home just before the storm hit.”
Emily frowned, imagining the worst.
“It’s okay,” he assured. “Brian was heading into the basement. I’m sure he’s down there playing some video game.”
Her sphincter relaxed. “Thank God for that.”
“Thank God for that,” Lugh echoed. “And no, I’m not married.”
Emily’s head jerked up. “Huh?” she gasped, voice shrill. Mortified, she lowered it a couple of octaves. “Why do you say that?” Lugh’s smirk widened. Her cheeks grew warm.
“You know.”
“Okay, first? No, I don’t. And second? I don’t want to.” There. That told him.
“Well,” Lugh huffed, looking wounded for about two seconds before the wolf grin appeared. Damn he was cute.
“What?” she sulked.
“You. Me.” He pointed at her, then to himself. “Dinner. Friday night.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Then she stuffed the last bite of pizza in her mouth.
As much as she enjoyed flirting with Lugh, he was the high priest of her druid order. An
d Emily was supposed to be the grand druid. She was pretty sure that would be frowned upon.
“My treat,” Lugh cajoled.
She chewed furiously, head bobbing back and forth, and eyebrows glued in the ‘no-hell-no’ position.
“Have you had a chance to see Atlanta? Let me show you around. If there’s anything left of her after this.”
His voice dropped and caught on the last sentence, melting Emily’s resolve. The hitch resonated, echoing the sadness that had colored her life. Especially since losing Trey.
Too perceptive, Lugh asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She glanced away to hide the quick tears. “Where would we go if I did say yes?”
His tone promised worlds. “Your pick. Anywhere your heart desires.”
Emily knew she shouldn’t. But she wanted to. And why not? What was that old saying? Better to ask forgiveness than permission?
“How about Zoo Atlanta? I’d love to meet the famous Willie D. He and I are twins.”
“Are you now?” Lugh teased. “Got a bit of silverback gorilla in you, Miz Hester?”
Emily chuckled. “No, silly. We were born on the same day.”
A peculiar light flashed in the druid’s eyes. “So that would make you twenty-nine, going on thirty. Huh. You and Willie D,” Lugh said with an odd smile.
“Yeah. Me and Willie D.”
“Then Zoo Atlanta it is. Assuming, of course, it’s still there after today.”
Lugh shoved away from the table. “I can’t take it anymore. I’ve got to know what’s happening up there.” He ran a hand through the unruly black hair. “I’ll be back.”
But he didn’t leave, instead leaning his hands on the table.
“Since we’re going to the zoo, let’s make it Saturday morning. Nine o’clock? Pick you up at Wren’s Roost?”
Emily snagged a refill from a passing waiter. Swigging the soda, she suppressed a burp and gazed up at Lugh with googly eyes. Patient, he waited for an answer.
Finally, she muttered, “Okay. Nine o’clock. Saturday morning. But I’ll meet you here.”
Lugh opened his mouth to protest.
Emily swallowed, unwavering. “My terms.”
“Then, here, it is.” Lugh saluted and clicked his heels. “Now I must check in with APD and find out if there will be a ‘here’ then.”
**
Less than an hour after the siren first sounded, Lugh received the all-clear from the police department. Accompanied by two of his men, he climbed the stairs to assess the damage. From his initial scan, the kitchen—Jocko’s heart—appeared intact. That was a huge blessing.
He stuck his head through the swinging doors and gasped. The front wall and part of the roof were missing. Rain poured in, soaking the patio and the front half of the restaurant. He put Xerxes and Kyle to work moving the furniture out of the rain and punched a number on his cell. Trent Phillips answered in one ring.
“Trent, Lugh MacBrayer. You guys okay over there?” He listened to the reply. “Glad to hear it. We weren’t so lucky at Jocko’s. The storm ripped the roof off the front and the windows are shattered. Could you possibly bring a crew over and close ‘er up? Enough to keep the rain and looters out?” Lugh gulped and held his breath.
The druid builder yelled, “Blessed be! The storm missed Jocko’s!” to someone on his end. Of Lugh, Trent asked, “Is the kitchen okay?”
His concern brought a lump to Lugh’s throat. “Kitchen’s fine. Did you say the storm missed Jocko’s?”
“Kitchen’s fine,” Trent reported, then said to Lugh, “Hell yeah, man! We just heard on the news that the whole block was wiped out. I can’t imagine life without your pizza. Oh, look! There you are on television. Sheesh, Lugh. Is everyone okay? Christ a’mighty.”
“What? What do you see?” Lugh rushed to the exposed front and gasped. Where the coffee house had been was a pile of rubble. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles threw garish shadows on the wanton destruction. Workers dressed in Fire Department gear swarmed the sidewalks and street.
Paramedics labored to extricate passengers from vehicles and dig patrons from cellars of once-thriving businesses. They loaded the injured onto stretchers, then in ambulances and fire trucks. One took off, siren blasting, toward Emory Hospital. All in a steady, slogging rain.
“Shit, Trent,” Lugh muttered. “Christ a’mighty is right. It looks like Armageddon out there.”
“Yeah,” Trent agreed. “Thank God Jocko’s made it. Is everyone okay? Any injuries or,” the gulp was loud enough for Lugh to hear, “any casualties?”
“No, thank God.” Lugh hadn’t realized just how lucky they were. “We made it to the basement. Everyone’s fine. Jocko’s isn’t.” He was grateful the bulk of his building was intact, especially since the others weren’t. But he couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.
“I know, buddy. We’ll get her up and running as quickly as possible. You hang tight. I’ll be there with a crew as soon as I can. They’re reporting downed power lines and trees blocking some streets, but I’m leaving now.” Emotion thickened the builder’s voice. “We’ll get her buttoned up for you, I promise, Lu-Mac.”
“Thank you, Trent. Be safe out there.” Lugh stared at the damage.
The whole of Jocko’s front was demolished. The sign Lugh had paid an arm and a leg for last year hung precariously close to the sidewalk. Shards of glass covered everything, inside and out. The rain poured in, unrelenting.
Luckily, the bar and deeper sections had been spared for the most part. Lugh ducked behind the counter to access the panel for the overhead screens and waited for images to appear around the room. Powered by the generator, all but two flickered on. Encouraged to know the building still had some life, he instructed his guys to spread plastic tablecloths over what couldn’t be moved.
Lugh picked his way outside to take a look at the damage. Fire trucks and police cruisers had parked haphazardly on the curb and sidewalk. Stepping into the melee, he turned a slow circle to take in the devastation.
A battered Jocko’s stood at the top of the small rise, but everything else was gone. The Coffee House. The Peruvian Barbecue. The twenty-four-hour pharmacy, the grocery, Post Office, convenience store, the filling station. All were razed, nothing left but a few block walls and exposed plumbing and wires. Police strobes flashed, throwing an eerie glow over the scene.
Lugh shook his now-wet head, barely believing his eyes. Everything but his restaurant was gone. How could that be? He watched a familiar cruiser jump the curb to park on the last available patch of sidewalk.
Taurus Gowan climbed out with his partner Pete Peschi, a retired middle-linebacker from the majors. The officers’ expressions mirrored Lugh’s.
He unlocked the inner door and retreated beneath the intact part of the roof to wave them in. They plodded through the entrance, solemn heads shaking in unison as they removed dripping hats.
“Taurus. Pete,” Lugh nodded to each.
“Lugh.” They returned somber nods. Peschi stepped up to shake Lugh’s hand.
Taurus did the same. “Is everyone safe?”
Lugh nodded.
“We’re looking for Emily Hester. She’s not at Wren’s Roost and we’ve been unable to locate her. Hamilton’s car is in your lot. Please tell us she’s here and safe.”
“She is.” Lugh hitched his thumb toward the back, “Miz Hester came in just before the storm hit. She’s in the cellar, with the rest.” Taurus whipped out his radio and relayed the message that the priest and grand druid were alive and well.
When he clicked off, Lugh asked, “What happened, exactly?”
“Three tornadoes,” Peschi bellowed over a wailing siren. “All converged into one, big-ass twister that walloped Emory Hill. Someone up there’s looking out for you, Lu-Mac.”
“I’d say,” Taurus nodded, eyes big. “The usual enchantments didn’t hold at the Health Food Co-op. Those girls should have been protected. But it’s a pile of rubble, same as the non-
druid stores.”
A knife twisted in Lugh’s guts. He’d been friends with Jo and Stef since grade school. “Was anyone hurt?” The knife carved through him and angry impotence made his hands shake. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Pete answered, “No, they’re all fine. Just shaken, like you. And determined to rebuild. News is mostly good from the businesses, thanks to the old storm cellars. But the folks in their cars and the homeless were hit hard. Too many were caught outside.”
Lugh rubbed his chin to calm the tremors. “And I thought we had it bad. We heard the roof rip from the building on our way down cellar. We barely got everyone out in time.”
Taurus eyed the rain pouring in the gaping hole and shook his head. “Jocko’s will be attractive to looters. We’ll make sure she’s well patrolled tonight.”
“Trent’s on his way. He promised to button her up. But I appreciate you keeping an eye on Jocko’s. How did the rest of the order fare?”
“All most folks got was a bit of wind damage—broken windows, downed trees, and the like. Yours is the only place with a hole and the Co-op’s the only one demolished.” Peschi exchanged looks with Taurus. “A few injuries, nothing major. No fatalities that we know of, though plenty of civilians died. What about your nephew?”
“He made it home from school before the storm hit. Hold on, let me check in.” Lugh whipped his cell out and punched Brian’s number. After a brief exchange, he hung up, calmer.
“He says he thinks the only damage is to the old sycamore out back.” The officers nodded, relieved. Lugh edged toward the kitchen. “Is it okay if I let Emily and the other forty customers out of my cellar?”
Taurus settled the plastic-encased hat on his head. “The winds and hail have passed, and Jocko’s side exit is clear. The cars in your lot survived, though goddess knows how.”
One more thing for Lugh to be grateful for. “Thanks, fellas.” His voice went husky. “I’ll let them know. Thank you both for what you do out there. And for looking after Jocko’s.”