Irina strode through the bar, ignoring the stir behind her.

In the back of the bar, a woman watched her, half smirking behind her glass. She was on the tall side, though it was a bit hard to tell since she was seated, and her rolled-up sleeves revealed muscled forearms. She was tanned and clad in sturdy, work-worn khaki. Add in the hazel eyes behind round copper-framed glasses and her bristling copper hair, and she was a study in earth tones.

A shotgun was nestled in the corner of the booth, beside the redhead. A glint of color above it resolved into a hummingbird, flitting about in the gloom of the bar.

Just like the woman had said. Irina stopped at her booth.

The woman raised her glass. “Goeienaand, Voevode.”

The bar door swung open. Ankhiale, in the midst of downing her drink, sat back in her seat as a ripple of unease swept through the room.

The woman who entered was a tall woman who looked like she’d just stepped out of an ink drawing – black hair, black leather, pale skin, pale eyes – save for the gleam of brass studs on her long coat, heavy boots, and thick gloves. The coat was fully buttoned, even the high collar. One hand held a long, polished ash pike. Her long nose and heavy eyebrows completed her severe appearance, and made her instantly identifiable.

The woman stopped at Ankhiale’s booth.

Ankhiale raised her glass. “Goeienaand, Voevode.”