by K. E. Radke
He spreads his arms innocently. “Or you could have just asked me to go get coffee.”
“You might have said no.”
“I’d have definitely said yes,” he says in a tone that makes me believe him. His eyes flicker over my face until our eyes meet. And then a drink is thrust between us.
“Amelia and Amelia’s coffee date. Have a nice day,” the other barista says with a smile.
Booths are on one side of the building if you want to order more than coffee. On the other side are couches, and in the middle are tiny round tables, barely big enough for one person. A laptop fits on them, and nothing else. That probably explains why people work here during the day. No one can bother them while they tap away on their keyboards.
We claim a table near the window at the front because it’s deserted. He takes a sip of his drink and stifles a sour face. Sitting across from me, he tries to hide his distaste and I giggle. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it. It was free after all.”
The drink is pushed to the edge of the table, and he focuses on me. “Do you want to tell me about the weird things happening to you?”
“Is that the only reason you agreed to get coffee with me?” I can’t help asking. My lips wrap around the straw to prepare for his yes. Maybe I should have chosen a booth. At least I can hide under that table.
“I’m not sure that’s coffee.” Taking another sip, he scrunches his face a little less. “And no. Did you know manatees are thriving and were taken off the endangered species list?”
The random question fills my stomach with butterflies. He wants to be here. With me. Playing along, my eyes widen with interest. “That’s excellent news for the manatees.”
“Not really, it’s still on the threatened list.”
“Then they aren’t thriving, are they? Is that what brings you to Florida? The sea cows?” I question innocently to see what else I can find out about him.
He gives me a confused expression. “I live here.”
That’s an interesting twist. Mr. I’m-not-the-guy-you can-have-a-future-with. He sees the surprise on my face and continues, “I travel a lot up the east coast. But this is home base.”
I nod in answer, wondering if he’s making it up for my benefit. “What do you do for a living that keeps you traveling?”
He stiffens at the question and tries to relax again. “Boring stuff that’ll put you to sleep, even with the coffee in your system. What about you? Why the Steak N’ Bake?”
I almost want to yell out Ah-ha! And grill him about this mysterious job he doesn’t want to talk about by diverting the conversation to me. To stop my lips from slyly twisting upward, I answer, “It’s on the Boulevard. My boss is nice, and I make pretty good tips.”
“But what’s the big goal in the future? Or do you plan on staying at the Steak N’ Bake and stealing your boss’s job right from under her?”
“There is no shame in being a restaurant manager.” I point my finger at him accusingly.
“I never said there was. Just trying to get to know you a little better than the coffee you like to drink.” Another sip and he can’t hide the sour look on his face this time. “Are you sure this is coffee?”
I take it away from him. “Why do you keep torturing yourself by drinking something you don’t like?”
“Because if I throw it away, you might try to end this little coffee date you coerced me into,” he says seriously. “So, I plan on drinking that real slow.” He reaches for it and I let him have it. My heart pounds a little harder, warmth expanding in my chest.
“I’m only working at the Steak N’ Bake to help pay for stuff I need and college.”
“Is this college close by? Say, in driving distance to Miami?” he prods in an innocent voice.
I shrug my shoulders and pretend I don’t know he’s secretly asking me where it is. “Doesn’t matter. No one will visit me anyway.”
“Weird things happen outside of Miami. I can always stop by if I’m close. You know, should you need me to walk you to your car. If you’re interested in that sort of service.”
“I suppose campus security could help with that. I mean, you wouldn’t want them to lose their jobs because you’re doing it for free. Would you?”
“Of course not.” The amused smile widens. “At this mysterious college, what kind of degree are you getting?”
Excitement rolls over me. A topic I never get to talk about. No one in my family understands when I explain it to them—actually—no one does.
“Living in Florida, I’ve always been fascinated with hurricanes and the weather. One day my dad brought home a book about becoming a Meteorologist. People think I want to be a glorified weather girl. They don’t understand Earth’s chemistry. How it all mixes together and depending on its mood, shows you such beautiful power. An untamable beast that bows to no one.” I blush when I catch him paying attention to my every word. He seems truly engrossed by my passion. It makes me shut up immediately. Don’t chase him away with too many facts.
Genuine happiness stretches across his face for me, but there’s a gleam of sadness in his eyes, almost like he regrets asking the question. “Close with your family?”
“Extremely close. Too close sometimes. And then I wonder how I’d do if they weren’t there…” I trail off and realize he’s asking all the questions. “What about you? Any other family members here, besides your brother?”
“They’re all here. But we all travel. Sometimes we don’t see each other as often as we like.”
All the vague answers make me want to dig deeper. “And the big goal in your future?”
He leans across the table to answer, and our fingers touch. It’s like an electric jolt and a soft caress trails up my hand. I’m not sure if he does it to distract me, but I take advantage of the contact and interlock my fingers with his.
My eyes flit to his face. He’s staring at our hands with his mouth slightly open, surprised. A melancholy smile crosses his face, a kind of torture he’ll refuse to share. Something he hides from the world because the expression is wiped clean the moment we make eye contact.
But his hand relaxes in mine.
Loud vibrations startle us, and Gabriel’s name flashes on my phone. It’s sitting on the table where we can both see it. Rowan’s hand releases mine, and he leans back in his chair, trying to ignore the fact that our hands were touching only a moment ago. Almost like the phone jolted him back to the present to remind him a future with me doesn’t exist.
For the first time, I regret giving my number to Gabriel and breathe through the frustration of his ill-timed call. This morning I couldn’t wait to hear from him. Even with my doubts, I checked my phone constantly for an hour before the feeling dissipated like fog when the sun comes out.
“Ah, the get out of jail free call,” Rowan says knowingly like he’s in on the joke. “Go ahead, answer it. Let’s see what kind of emergency you have for me,” he challenges and raises a skeptical eyebrow.
I raise the phone to my ear and pretend to answer it. “Calm down. I can’t understand you. Oh my—is he okay? But did he—do you need me—of course! Not at all.” Lowering my gaze to the table with a somber expression, I sniffle. “I-um have to bring my dog a Mocha Latte or he’ll poop in my shoe. Extra whipped cream.”
Rowan gives me a shocked gasp before he cracks up laughing. “I’m pretty sure he’s already pooped in your shoe. You know how dogs get without their caffeine.”
Something in my peripheral vision moves, and I yelp when I glance out the window. Rowan follows my gaze and gives a sigh, usually only done by parents when they’ve lost all their patience and want to give up.
The General lightly knocks on the window for good measure. Rowan leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling.
“Your get out of jail free card is extremely devoted to getting you out of this horrible date if he came all this way,” I note with fake admiration.
He bursts out laughing. It’s so loud everyone in Si
psys stares at us. Then their eyes look beyond us at the man in the window with the hoodie completely obscuring his face. Nothing of him is visible. With all eyes on him, he melts back into the shadows like a creepy stalker.
“That is my cue to follow.” Rowan gets up and grimaces when he takes another sip of his Frappuccino. The lie rolls off his tongue beautifully. “This was surprisingly not bad. But don’t tell my brother I said that.”
“I guess you can’t walk me to my car?” I question in an even tone.
He hesitates. “Let’s find out. Maybe the General is being friendly.”
“Why do I feel like he only shows up when bad things happen?” He holds the door open for me and the General appears in front of me like magic. I shriek and back into Rowan. His arm protectively wraps around me from behind and he pulls me against him.
“You really need to stop doing that!” I whisper because he’s frightened my voice away.
“Doing what?” the General asks.
“Creeping up on people!” It’s still scared, and I’m surprised he heard me.
“What do you want?” The question shoots out of Rowan’s mouth.
The General simply says, “It’s your brother.” The tiny sentence holds so much power.
Rowan’s arm tightens around me and then he realizes what he’s doing and removes it. The heat lingers across my waist. “Where is he? Is he okay?” The words are rushed and full of panic.
“Fighting with a—.” The sentence is never finished. I can’t tell if the General had a sudden stroke and can’t speak anymore, or if it’s because he doesn’t want me to know who Rowan’s brother is fighting with.
It’s probably the cops. Gage doesn’t look like he does well with authority.
“Where?” Rowan’s voice has a hint of desperation.
“Over on Siesta Street.”
“I’m sorry,” Rowan apologizes, stepping away from me. He takes one last look at me and sprints toward Siesta Street. The General is gone by the time I think to look for him. I’m alone on the sidewalk in the dark.
Enough people are milling around to keep me company. But I pull my purse in close and wrap my arms around myself. I take one step forward and stifle a scream. My feet jerk me backward and I hit Sipsys’s glass window.
The General is in front of me again. Where did he come from? I glance after Rowan, but he’s already vanished in the crowd.
“You were gone,” I state the obvious. Now he’s back. In a blink of an eye.
“I’m to escort you to your car,” the General insists in a bitter tone. He doesn’t like the command he’s been given, but he’s willing to do it.
“Who is his brother fighting? Will he be okay? Should we call the police?” I throw in the last question, but it doesn’t faze the General. Or at least I don’t think it does. I can’t exactly see his face. But if they wanted the police, someone would have called already.
“The police will only make things more difficult,” he replies. “Which way to your car?” He’s suddenly closer than he was before and leans in. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I try to lean back a little and can’t because I’m trapped by the glass window. I do the only thing I can think of and put my hand out so he can’t come any closer. Is he sniffing my hand?
“Do you already know?” his tone is suspicious. “You smell like him. It’s much stronger than before.”
Irritation leaks into every word. “We were on a date. Why are you smelling me? Aren’t you going to help Rowan?” I’d rather walk to my car alone.
His head tilts to the side like he’s sizing me up. Aware of something I don’t know about. “My task is to get you to safety first.”
“And if I want to make sure Rowan is okay?” I counter. Siesta street isn’t far. I can walk by. It’s a free country.
Someone knocks on the window. I yelp and jump away from the glass.
A muffled, “Are you okay?” It’s the barista.
I nod to get rid of her and glance back to find no one. Spinning around like a lunatic—twice—until I realize the General has disappeared again. All I want to do is hide my face and get to my car. I’ll never be able to go inside Sipsys again.
Out of the dark, in between buildings, a familiar voice quietly calls to me. “Your world will change. And not for the better.” There’s a circle of light from the streetlamp, the General stands at the edge in the shadows. For the first time, his head is up. It’s so dark he’s only an outline, and although I can’t see his eyes, I know he's staring right at me.
The hoodie falls back just enough to make me look at him. If I get close enough, I might be able to see his face. Two glowing red dots appear in the dark hood where his face should be, but it’s like a black hole. My foot takes a step back from him, and I tighten my grip around my purse. But I can’t look away.
A weapon is my first instinct. But there’s nothing in my purse that will protect me—except maybe the purse itself. It’s heavy enough to swing. My second instinct is to run. Sipsys is the obvious choice. Go right back inside. I’ve been acting weird all night. No one will question it.
Sunshine Boulevard is never empty, but I feel isolated. Paralyzed with fear. Death’s grip is around my throat, stealing the breath from my lungs. Sudden shouts of shock grab the General’s attention and he’s under the lamplight with his hood obscuring his face again. Standing right beside me.
Oxygen fills my lungs and I have both hands at my throat. There’s nothing physically wrapped around it. But the phantom touch lingers. Like a snake uncurling and slithering down my back.
I watch the skyline with everyone else. Along the rooftop, someone is running on the edge. A suicide attempt? Looking further out, to see when the building ends and how much time they have before they fall off, I see a blur in front of them.
Are they chasing something? Is it a trick of the light? I expect the blur to vanish once it gets to the end of the building, but it leaps off the rooftop and hits the ground. Gracefully on both feet.
Impossible.
My mouth is wide open in awe. Jumping the long distance slows them down just enough for everyone to see they’re human. A pale outline of arms and legs with long, whipping brown hair.
In seconds, she becomes a blur again. People are knocked down by her speed. Pushed out of the way like pins in a bowling alley.
My gaze flees back to the rooftop. There’s still another person up there, watching the blur getaway and disappear across the street.
Someone else pushes his way through the shocked crowd. Everyone’s standing around, trying to figure out if this is a planned publicity trick. If it is, Rowan must be part of it. Pounding the pavement, people cheer as he chases after the blur. The throng of people decide whatever they saw isn’t real, and this is all for their entertainment.
The General is nowhere to be found, and the person on the rooftop is gone.
Every instinct in my body tells me to run. Get far away from here. Go home. Lose Rowan’s number. And forget everything you saw today.
My feet decide for me. And I find myself running after Rowan.
Chapter 9
Rowan
A ll I can think about is her fingers interlaced with mine. Stumbling off the curb, I bounce off a car parallel parked and pretend no one saw me crash into a stationary vehicle. Weaving through the crowd in my peripheral vision, the shadows twist and bend in the dark.
I huff out, “I know you’re not following me.”
El Cucuy appears in a shaded spot between two people, mesmerized by their phones.
“Make sure Amelia gets to her car safely.” I jog past him. The two strangers look up and give me bewildered who-are-you-talking-to expressions.
“That is not what the master commanded.” The General’s voice makes the people he’s in between glance at him and they both shriek, jumping away from him.
I backtrack, wasting precious seconds I don’t have. “Yes, he did. You’re supposed to make sure she’s safe at all times, remember?” Gage’s co
mmands can be left to interpretation most of the time, and I can usually manipulate them to my advantage.
He tilts his head and disappears. The two strangers yelp and wave their arms in the space the General used to occupy. Their questions go unanswered as I continue down the sidewalk to get to Siesta Street.
Nervous energy fuels me forward. Gage never asks for help. If it’s a dangerous situation, he usually tackles it single handedly without saying a word so we can’t change his mind. A kamikaze mission.
I figured out he’s not suicidal—he thinks his life is worth less than everyone else’s. Nothing I say will convince him otherwise. A lifetime of hunters despising his demon half took a toll on his mental state. And made him believe he is nothing but a burden.
Gage is worth more than all the lives he has saved combined.
And one day I will prove it to him.
He will not leave this world buried under hateful lies.
Running through the crowds takes a high level, ninja maneuvering. I have to be fast enough to slip by without knocking anyone down. A drunk group of guys are dancing outside a bar and I give them a wide berth.
On Siesta Street my head whips to the right and left several times. “Which way?” I gasp out, talking to myself.
“This way.” An arm with bright tattoos wraps around my waist and a dainty hand trails along my stomach, lowering to the edge of my waistband. Alcohol assails my nose and I peel off the prying hand and give it back to the stumbling woman.
On my left, the General appears, and I sprint in his direction. A group of people cheer me on with brown paper bags, hiding their alcoholic drinks as I pass them.
Cars zip by and I slowly spin around, using the headlights to look for a clue up and down the walkway to tell me where to go. I meander a little further where the streetlights flicker and fewer people are moseying around.
A chain-link fence appears to my left. The eerie light illuminates a beat-up construction trailer and expensive equipment behind it. There’s no doubt the area is under surveillance because it’s being primed for a new building and piles of materials are scattered throughout the space.
