“Welcome to the Roc’s Nest,” said the face—its skin cracked like bleached leather, its teeth straight and white. “Please, have a look around. I’m Gavin Carter. And this—this here is Eska. My adopted daughter.”
I looked at her even as I became aware of my pounding head: at her strange, harsh face and dense, un-manicured brows; her large, stout teeth—which were not straight and white—her eyes like chiseled obsidian.
“Go on, Eska,” said the man—Carter—who appeared to be in his late 50s. “Be a dear and give Mr. Hayes a smile. Show him some of that primal charm you have; and in such great abundance. Come, come, now.”
I watched as the corners of her mouth crept up, slowly, hesitantly. Indeed, she could be charming—even beautiful—when she wasn’t braining you with a board, that is (or whatever
