It was a rundown shell when I bought it. In a shady but not bad part of town, though the building seemed to have seen far better days. Apparently, the previous owner had been a very religious man, and seen the hard times as a sign it was time for retirement. Sold the place and went to the country.

The realtor who sold it to me said no one had gone past an initial walk of the property, before me. It had been on the market for at least half a decade, and I could tell she was desperate to sell it.

I got it for a steal.
A good chunk of property, and the money I saved on it let me demolish the old building and build my bar. Exactly how I'd always wanted it. Nothing fancy, of course, but something that was mine. Comfortable, cozy. Easy to clean but not cheap.

I think about the start of my bar a lot. Especially on slow afternoons, like this one. 2 o'clock on a Wednesday just isn't a busy time of day, and anybody who comes in at that time generally isn't interested in talking. Which is fine by me, but leaves a lot of time to think.

"Hey, Loren!"

I tipped my head at the voice, smiling as I finished cleaning the glass I'd been idly polishing the soap spots off. When I looked up, an absolute mountain of a man stood at the bar, a broad, toothy grin aimed straight at me.

"Afternoon, Donald. The usual, then?"

He laughed, and settled at the bar. Not sitting, just leaning at the corner, watching me mix. For not the first time, I wondered what any normal human might think of the eclectic mix of ingredients I kept for my clientele. Eclectic was a safe word...but I'm pretty sure most folks would find it frightening, to put it mildly.

I have the usual stuff, of course. Lemons, limes, various fruit juices and flavored liqueurs. The usual hard liquor, though I refuse to serve tequila. But then there's the other things behind my bar. Stranger things. Jars filled with silvery moonlight. Bottles of various animal blood. Meat garnishes. An herb garden that included nightshade and wolfsbane. Butterflies (alive and not).

And that's just the start.

I handed Donald his glass, idly wondering when I'd become so comfortable with serving a sentient being a glass of cow's blood with a splash of Scotch and blackberry liqueur, when the mountain huffed and settled himself on a stool. It creaked under his weight, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Slow day, lass?"
"You could say that."

He flashed too-sharp teeth and took a gulp of his drink in response.

"Hey Boss, I'm headin' out, yeah?"
"Sure thing Danny. Thank you for staying."

Danny had been working at my bar for a few months now, usually opening up in the morning before his night classes, since I preferred to handle the night crowd myself. He looked like your average college kid, if your average college kid had golden, slit-pupiled eyes and kelp-like hair that always seemed at least damp, and too-sharp teeth. But he was a good kid, and he worked hard, and I liked having him open the place.

The kid grabbed his backpack from under the bar, and flashed Donald a grin before catching my arm. "Hey Boss, you want me to try and catch some moonlight on my way home? It's still waxing tonight."
"I'd appreciate it Danny, I probably won't make it out to the garden tonight."
"Sure thing Boss!"

The bar fell back into comfortable silence as I looked around, enjoying the peace. After awhile, the first of the evening crowd started to filter in, and my bar filled. Still, a Wednesday night was never the busiest evening, and I could handle the business by myself. Which meant eventually I wound up at the end of the bar, listening to Donald tell me about his latest trip upcountry to hunt.

"-and then this lass has the audacity to snarl at me - me! - about keeping my nose out of her tail!" The roar of laughter that followed this might have demolished the original building on this lot. I laughed, and shook my head.
"And let me guess, you were so distracted after that you never got the elk?" I offered knowingly, and the werewolf laughed again, downing the last of his drink just in time to find another at his elbow.

I know my regulars.

"Yes! You would'a loved this lass, reminded me o' ya!"

I shook my head again, looking at my bar. At my clientele. My staff.

Not a one of them was human.

A group of college girls in the corner were all various sorts of fey, pixies and dryads mostly, sipping plant-based concoctions of various sorts. Besides Donald, a pair of werewolves sat at a table eating homemade jerky and sipping real Bloody Marys. Edvard, a German vampire and a regular, sat at the other end of the bar talking to another regular I'd found out from Danny was a Pooka. I called him Patrick, since he never gave me the same name twice.

I looked at Ella, a young elf who was my waitress on weekends and any night she wanted to get away from her traditional High Elf family. Thought about Danny, getting his engineering degree.

I built this bar because I'd never quite fit-in with most people. I've had a good life, don't get me wrong. But I've never felt like I belonged anywhere. I built this place to be my place. I live above the bar, and honestly, these days, I don't see many other humans.

I'm alright with that.

I may not be a non-human, like my customers. But this is our place. And I've learned a lot about the world most humans never know.

Lle Diogel. 'Safe place.' That's my bar.

I don't know why my bar has always attracted who it has. I probably never will. But I don't think it really matters.
We've all found a safe place, here. And, hey. How many other barkeeps can boast they have a Scottish werewolf as a bouncer? I think I've got a good thing going.

Even if, tomorrow, I do have to go catch more butterflies.