The sudden lump in my throat is evil and stupid, and I swallow it down hard.
She brushes hair off my forehead, and when she kisses my cheek, I breathe in the clean, familiar scent of her. “Have fun, okay? And let me know if you won’t be home for dinner. We’re all on leftover duty for the duration.”
I sketch a salute. “Roger, corporal.”
She snorts as she walks into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Try four-star general, baby girl.”
As if she has any better idea of military rank than I do. I wind my scarf around my neck and grab my bag, taking a deep breath before I walk outside.
If Gabriel isn’t into the magical side of me, I’m going to talk to some people who might be.
I’ve never been to the coffee shop where Fiona wants to meet. It’s on the other side of town, closer to the high school, and tucked in between a deli and a dry cleaner’s. The sign looks like it was last painted in 1947 or so, and the inside of the place is just as retro, with cracked vinyl stools along a square counter in the middle of the room and a few ancient wood tables with matching chairs scattered along the walls.
Fiona and Bay are on the far side of the square, facing the front, and Fiona waggles her fingers at me when I walk in. A bell over the door jingles weakly, and I smile nervously.
The shop is deserted, aside from two old men who are actually playing checkers at a table in the front window, and neither one of them pays any attention to me as I walk by. There’s only one person behind the counter, a girl in her late twenties who looks like she rolled out of bed only minutes after she climbed in. The front of her white apron is splashed with old coffee stains and something I hope is dried ketchup.
“A new face,” she says idly as I take a stool next to Fiona. “It must be my birthday.”
“Ignore Connie,” Bay says with a sly smile. “She’s permanently bitter. I’m pretty sure it’s in her DNA.”
She rolls her eyes at him and walks away, idly wiping the counter as she goes. And completely ignoring me , which I guess is okay for now.
Fiona jumps off her stool and ducks under the counter to scoop ice into a glass and pour some water over it. Connie doesn’t even appear to notice, and Fiona grins like a naughty little kid. “We’re very DIY around here.”
She slides the glass toward me, and I stop it with my hand before it splashes my coat. Which I realize I should take off, as well as my scarf. I’m sitting so primly on my stool, all wrapped up, I must look like I’m at Sunday school.
I’m not like this, not usually, and if I’m going to hang out with these kids, I need them to know it. I figure acting the part will convince me, too.
“Nice,” I say as Fiona gets back on her stool, spinning it lazily while I take off my coat and scarf. “You bartend in the Old West on weekends or something?”
It’s weak, just a warm-up, but Bay laughs. “Fee here is just your average, everyday show-off,” he explains, taking my coat as I realize I have no place to hang it. He gets up and carries it over to the row of hooks along the wall. “She likes to do everything with flash .” He makes jazz hands in punctuation, and Fiona pouts.
“Everything’s fun if you make it fun,” she tells me, leaning close as if this is an important secret. Her breath smells like coffee and menthol cigarettes, and her lips are an iridescent plum today.
“I’m sure murder victims would love to hear that.”
She looks so surprised for a minute, she doesn’t respond, but Bay hoots out loud. “Oh, snap . This one’s awesome, Fee.”
It takes her a second to put her smile back in place, but once it’s there, she doesn’t seem mad. She pushes off with one foot and sends her stool spinning again, her cloud of hair bouncing over her frilly, white blouse.
She looks a little like something out of a Victorian picture book today, with her high-collared shirt and long, black skirt. But there’s a black
She brushes hair off my forehead, and when she kisses my cheek, I breathe in the clean, familiar scent of her. “Have fun, okay? And let me know if you won’t be home for dinner. We’re all on leftover duty for the duration.”
I sketch a salute. “Roger, corporal.”
She snorts as she walks into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Try four-star general, baby girl.”
As if she has any better idea of military rank than I do. I wind my scarf around my neck and grab my bag, taking a deep breath before I walk outside.
If Gabriel isn’t into the magical side of me, I’m going to talk to some people who might be.
I’ve never been to the coffee shop where Fiona wants to meet. It’s on the other side of town, closer to the high school, and tucked in between a deli and a dry cleaner’s. The sign looks like it was last painted in 1947 or so, and the inside of the place is just as retro, with cracked vinyl stools along a square counter in the middle of the room and a few ancient wood tables with matching chairs scattered along the walls.
Fiona and Bay are on the far side of the square, facing the front, and Fiona waggles her fingers at me when I walk in. A bell over the door jingles weakly, and I smile nervously.
The shop is deserted, aside from two old men who are actually playing checkers at a table in the front window, and neither one of them pays any attention to me as I walk by. There’s only one person behind the counter, a girl in her late twenties who looks like she rolled out of bed only minutes after she climbed in. The front of her white apron is splashed with old coffee stains and something I hope is dried ketchup.
“A new face,” she says idly as I take a stool next to Fiona. “It must be my birthday.”
“Ignore Connie,” Bay says with a sly smile. “She’s permanently bitter. I’m pretty sure it’s in her DNA.”
She rolls her eyes at him and walks away, idly wiping the counter as she goes. And completely ignoring me , which I guess is okay for now.
Fiona jumps off her stool and ducks under the counter to scoop ice into a glass and pour some water over it. Connie doesn’t even appear to notice, and Fiona grins like a naughty little kid. “We’re very DIY around here.”
She slides the glass toward me, and I stop it with my hand before it splashes my coat. Which I realize I should take off, as well as my scarf. I’m sitting so primly on my stool, all wrapped up, I must look like I’m at Sunday school.
I’m not like this, not usually, and if I’m going to hang out with these kids, I need them to know it. I figure acting the part will convince me, too.
“Nice,” I say as Fiona gets back on her stool, spinning it lazily while I take off my coat and scarf. “You bartend in the Old West on weekends or something?”
It’s weak, just a warm-up, but Bay laughs. “Fee here is just your average, everyday show-off,” he explains, taking my coat as I realize I have no place to hang it. He gets up and carries it over to the row of hooks along the wall. “She likes to do everything with flash .” He makes jazz hands in punctuation, and Fiona pouts.
“Everything’s fun if you make it fun,” she tells me, leaning close as if this is an important secret. Her breath smells like coffee and menthol cigarettes, and her lips are an iridescent plum today.
“I’m sure murder victims would love to hear that.”
She looks so surprised for a minute, she doesn’t respond, but Bay hoots out loud. “Oh, snap . This one’s awesome, Fee.”
It takes her a second to put her smile back in place, but once it’s there, she doesn’t seem mad. She pushes off with one foot and sends her stool spinning again, her cloud of hair bouncing over her frilly, white blouse.
She looks a little like something out of a Victorian picture book today, with her high-collared shirt and long, black skirt. But there’s a black
Similar Books
