by Tessa Adams
Besides, it’s raining again and I have no desire to ever walk in the rain again.
I’m at work in less than five minutes—there’s no traffic at this time of the morning—and it’s not until I’m locked in the shop, music blasting and baking ingredients spread out in front of me, that I finally relax.
I have a little more than an hour before Beanz opens and plenty to do to keep me busy. I mix up a big batch of pumpkin muffins and get them in the oven before starting on the blueberry streusel ones. I pop them in the second oven, then work on a huge batch of chocolate cookies.
Normally, I love to make cookies. I love the mixing of the dry ingredients, the mixing of the wet ingredients and then the combining of the two to make something wonderful. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of potion-making with my mother, which was my favorite activity when I was young. She always mixes different parts of her potions in different containers before combining them at the end. She swears they’re more powerful that way, and having been the recipient of more than one through the years, I tend to agree with her.
Cooking, especially baking, isn’t much different from making a powerful potion, really. You have a recipe to follow—a little of this, a lot of that—all combined in perfect, preset proportions. But at the end, when the main dough, or potion, is set…that’s when you get to experiment. Add a different kind of nut or some butterscotch chips or maybe a few ground-up toffee bars for the cookies. Play with the herbs and flowers and magical binders for the potion. And suddenly, depending on the talent of the cook, you have something amazing. Something just a little bit better than the competition.
My ability to turn experiments into something wonderful is what’s made Beanz the most popular coffeehouse in Austin and it’s that same ability that has made my mother the most revered potion-maker in our coven and several others. Though I know it won’t get me anywhere, I often wonder if I wasn’t latent, if I actually did have power, would I have followed in my mother’s footsteps?
Not that it matters, I suppose. It’s just interesting to think about. Especially when Lily’s voice echoes in my head, telling me that while she might not know what is going on with me, she does know that I’m no longer latent. I’m not sure that I believe her, but I could just be burying my head in the sand. It’s a popular pastime of mine, after all.
I relax as I cook, fall into a familiar rhythm where the motions are so second nature to me that I don’t have to think. I can just be. Normally, I love that rhythm, but today it’s dangerous. I’ve barely gotten the wet ingredients into the mixer when a picture of Declan flashes into my mind. Only it’s not the Declan I know, dressed all in sophisticated and expensive black. Instead, he’s draped in the red robes and golden crown of the Magician, the infinity sign on his pointy hat with a wand in one hand and a crystal ball in the other.
I blank the image away, focus instead on how the sugar and eggs and butter and vanilla blend together. But when I start to add the dry ingredients, Lina’s body flashes into my mind’s eye, only with my face in place of hers. I blink a few times, shake my head—as if it’s that easy to get the image out. It’s just a daymare, I tell myself, a daydream gone horribly wrong. And I might actually believe it if that damn five of swords didn’t float right at the edges of my consciousness. Taunting me with my inescapable future defeat.
Again, I don’t set much store in tarot by itself, but Lily is a powerful seer. When she reads tarot, you can’t help but pay attention. It’s why she was so nervous last night before the show and why I’m nervous still, even after everything that’s happened. A sick feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that all this is only the beginning.
The buzzer at the back door of the café goes off, and I glance at the clock. It’s five fifteen already and I forgot to unlock the door for Meg and Travis, the two UT students who help me handle morning rush every Monday through Friday. I rush to the door, let them in, then hurry to get the muffins out of the ovens and the cookies into them.
“Big night?” Travis asks, as he slips into an apron and starts brewing coffee in the four large carafes we always keep fresh during open hours.
“Why? What have you heard?”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I’ve said the wrong thing. His eyes gleam with interest as he fills one of the carafes. “Nothing yet. But please, do tell.”
“Nothing interesting, I swear.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“Doubt what?” asks Meg, sticking her head through the doorway from the front of the house, where she’s getting milk ready to steam and checking to be sure that everything’s stocked for the morning rush.
“Boss lady’s holding out on us.” Travis winks at me. “She had a scorching hot date last night and refuses to share the details.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I say, slipping the muffins from the tins and onto a platter for the front display cabinet. “But there was no hot date.”
“Really? So he fizzled out?” Travis asks.
“Who?”
“The guy Lily was setting you up with. She called yesterday when you were with a customer and we discussed whether you would be, let’s just say, amenable to the idea. I would never have voted yes if I’d known he was a dud.”
“Ugh. Duds are the worst,” Meg pipes in. “Especially when they’re blind dates.”
“Don’t let ole Kyle get you down,” Travis says as he slides the platter of muffins from my hands and carries them to the front.
“You know his name?” I demand, pulling the first batch of cookies from the oven.
“Honey, I know his shoe size. You don’t actually think Lily and I would send you on a date with some guy if we didn’t know almost everything there was to know about him, do you? The world’s a dangerous place.”
“Don’t I know it.” I slide another batch of cookies into the top oven and finally slip the blueberry streusel muffins from the bottom.
“So, what’s the flavor of the day?” Meg asks, as she pulls out the cookies I baked yesterday and starts arranging them on another tray.
I try to remember which holiday flavors we’d brewed lately, but it doesn’t take long before I give up. My brain is fried. “You and Travis decide.”
“Peppermint,” they both say at the same time.
“Again?” I ask. “Wasn’t that yesterday’s flavor, too?”
“It’s always the first carafe to empty. Besides, New Year’s is just three days away. We won’t be able to serve it after that, so I say let’s go for it.” Travis is already pouring the peppermint flavored beans into the grinder.
“We open in five,” Meg warns, transferring a few of the snickerdoodles from the warm cookie tray onto the serving platter.
“We’re ready,” I say as I put the last of the muffins in the display case. I walk around the front to make sure everything looks good, just as Travis flips the sign on the door to OPEN.
Within ten minutes, customers start trickling in at a fairly steady rate. Doctors and nurses heading into the nearby hospitals for a six o’clock shift change, cops and paramedics doing the same, construction workers getting ready to start before the sun finishes coming up.
By seven o’clock we’re slammed, even without the college business, and I don’t have time to think much before eleven when the last of the late-morning rush finally eases off. But the lunch crowd is just around the corner, and while it’s lighter than the coffee hounds, we still do a pretty brisk business.
Behind me, I hear Sarah and Meg chattering away as they prep the vegetables for the various sandwiches we offer. Travis, who works only enough hours to keep himself in beauty products, shrugs out of his apron and blows me a kiss. “See you tomorrow, Xandra.”
I wave good-bye, then turn to deliver the cinnamon latte I’ve just made to a waiting customer. As I do, I catch sight of the tall, lean, dark-haired man walking through the café’s doors. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but I recognize him right away. Ryder Chumomisto, Declan’s
younger but still powerful brother.
The latte slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers, hits the ground and explodes. I’m drenched in hot coffee that I barely feel.
“Shit.” Though I’m the one getting burned, Travis is the one who reacts first. Grabbing a couple of towels from under the counter, he rubs them down my legs in an effort to collect as much of the coffee as possible.
“I’m sorry,” I tell the customer whose drink I’m now wearing. “Travis will make you a new one.”
“Right away,” he says, handing me the towels so I can finish drying myself off. But before he heads for the espresso machine, he sneaks a quick glance at Ryder. “Tell me that wasn’t the dud?” he says under his breath as he moves past me.
“No.”
“Thank God. Maybe there is justice in the world after all.”
Within two minutes, I’ve cleaned up the mess and he’s sliding a fresh latte across the counter to the woman, who seems as blinded by Ryder’s good looks as Travis is. He actually has to nudge her along to make room for Ryder at the counter.
When she finally takes the hint and leaves—or at least, retires to a corner table where she can continue gawking at Ryder in peace—Travis turns the full wattage of his on-the-prowl grin at Ryder. “What can I get you?” he purrs, leaning across the counter in that way he does when he wants to show off his ab definition.
I know some straight guys, especially in Texas, would be offended, but Ryder takes Travis’s interest in stride. Then again, when you look like Ryder, I guess you have to get used to people tripping all over themselves to get your attention.
“Ummm…” He skims the menu for a second, then says, “I’ll just take a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee, it is.” Travis pulls a large cup from the stack and hands it to him. “Have you been here before?”
“No.”
“We’re a little different than some coffeehouses. All our regular coffee is free refill, and you can help yourself over there.” He points to our coffee stand. “Cream and sugar is against the wall, and, since we love to see new faces in here, the cookie is on the house.” He reaches into the display case and pulls out one of my secret recipe chocolate chip cookies and slides it into a pastry bag. “I hope you enjoy.”
Ryder grins and I swear I can see Travis melt right there, which is a rare occurrence. Travis, as he likes to remind me regularly, has been around the block a few times. It usually takes more than a pretty face to turn him into a puddle of goo.
“That’ll be two fifty,” he tells Ryder after ringing up the coffee only.
“Actually, his whole order’s on the house.” I figure I’d better step in or Travis will have Ryder naked before he knows what’s hit him.
Ryder’s smile grows wider. “Xandra.”
“Ryder. Long time no see.”
“It sure has been. I’ve missed you.”
“Of course you have.”
“Do you have a few minutes?” He holds up the cup Travis gave him. “Time for coffee?”
“I can make time, if Travis doesn’t mind staying a few minutes longer.” I turn to Travis with a raised brow.
He’s facing me now, and sulking over the fact that he lost his new toy. “Whatever,” he mumbles to me, complete with eye roll.
“Thanks, Travis. I owe you.”
“Huge,” he answers. “You owe me huge.”
“Gigantic.”
As Travis starts working his way down the small line that’s formed behind Ryder, I grab an empty cup and head around the counter toward my unexpected guest.
“So, what brings you into my humble shop?” I ask after we’re both seated at a corner table, our coffees on the table between us. My jeans are wet and sticky and they feel gross against my legs.
“Declan mentioned he ran into you last night. I wanted to stop by and say hello. Check out the most happening coffeehouse in Austin.” He looks around. “You did good, kid.”
“Thanks.”
I preen a little bit at the compliment. And if things hadn’t gone down the way they had last night, I might even have believed him. After all, Ryder and I have known each other for years—he and my sister Hannah were a serious item for a long time when I was young. We’d all thought they’d end up getting married, but something happened right after my nineteenth birthday and he left town in a hurry—after breaking my sister’s heart.
It’s a trait that must run in the Chumomisto family.
“So, what are you actually doing here?” I ask. “Not that I don’t appreciate the bullshit, but the lunch rush is about to hit and I’m covered in designer coffee. I’ve got things to do.”
He laughs then, a low, delighted sound that lights up the air around us. I find myself laughing with him, this man who always had time for Hannah’s little sister, even when Hannah didn’t.
I’ve seen him only a couple of times in the last eight years, but he hasn’t changed a bit. Same mischievous green eyes, same long dark hair tied in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. Same gorgeous face and wicked smile. He looks a lot like Declan, actually, with different-colored eyes and without the dangerous aura that surrounds his brother wherever he goes.
“That’s my Xandra,” he says. “Always the straight shooter.”
“Which is more than I can say about you or your brother.”
“I hear Declan really blew it with you last night.”
“Did you? And here I didn’t think he’d noticed.”
“Oh, he noticed. He sent me here to wave the white flag. I think he hoped you’d be blinded by affection for me and forget what a dumbass he was.”
“That’s a lot of affection.”
“Which is what I told him. But he’s tied up this morning with those tiresome homicide detectives and he insisted I come and invite you to dinner.” I feel a little nudge around the edges of my mind, but it’s so light it barely registers. I don’t pay any attention to it.
“I don’t think so,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “Last night was pretty rough and all I want to do is get through work today. Then I’m going home and going straight to bed.”
“We can make it a late dinner. You can take a nap and then we’ll pick you up whatever time you’d like.” The nudge grows a little stronger, into a full-fledged push, and I realize it’s Ryder at the same time I slam down an instinctive barrier between us.
I don’t know why I didn’t register what he was doing before. It’s not like I don’t know what Ryder’s powers are. He’s a powerful telepath and a very strong influencer—he can get inside almost anyone’s mind, usually without them knowing he’s there, and sway them in whatever direction he’d like. It’s a useful talent, and a frightening one. He’s never used it on me before, and now that he has, I find myself pretty damn annoyed.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
He just smiles enigmatically. “You really are all grown up, aren’t you, Xandra?”
“Did you expect differently?”
“I’m not sure what I expected.”
“Me neither. But I can tell you, it wasn’t a trick like that from someone I consider an old friend.”
He has the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry. That was uncool.”
“It was extremely uncool.” I shove back from the table, stand up. “I think it’s probably time for you to go now.”
He stands as well. “No second chance?”
I gesture to the table. “This was your second chance. You hurt Hannah.”
For a second, regret flashes in his eyes. “I really am sorry about how that whole thing turned out.”
This time I don’t say anything, just fold my arms over my chest and wait for him to leave.
“You sure I can’t convince you to see Declan tonight?” This time the fingers creeping around my brain are a lot lighter, nearly nonexistent. “He’d very much like the chance to talk to you.”
If I was thinking straight, I’d probably say yes. After everything that happened last night, there are
things I need to know and Declan might be just the warlock to tell them to me. But I’m so offended that he and Ryder thought to crawl inside my brain like this that I’m not interested—at all.
This time when I shove Ryder out, I’m not nice about it. I watch in satisfaction as he winces, presses a hand to his forehead.
“I guess that’s a no.”
“That’s a hell no.”
We stare at each other a moment and I feel it there, between us. The question of how a latent witch like I am has the power to even notice Ryder picking through my mind, let alone shove him the hell out of it. On the heels of that question is the realization that Ryder has probably picked his way through my mind numerous times before, only I was too stupid or blind to notice.
So what’s different now? What is going on that all of these strange things are happening and I seem to be squarely in the middle of them? Again, I think about accepting Declan’s invitation, but at this point I don’t know if that thought came from me or if Ryder has found a way back into my head, one I don’t notice this time.
Until I know for sure, I’m not agreeing to anything he suggests. I’m paranoid like that.
Before I can kick him out of my shop as well as my brain, the bell at the door jangles and I turn to greet the new customer with a forced smile on my face. Except it’s not a customer, it’s Nate, and he looks about like I feel. If I added on twelve hours of actively trying to track down a murderer, that is.
He spots me right away, and I can tell from the annoyed look on his face that he knows who Ryder is—and he is not pleased to find him here with me. The two men glare at each other for a second, then Ryder pulls a card out of his pocket and presses it into my hand. “In case you change your mind,” he whispers, bending down to kiss my cheek. That I know he does it just to infuriate Nate pisses me off even more.
For a second I fantasize about kicking him in the balls. But that would probably get Nate all riled up, not to mention the rest of my customers, so I satisfy myself with a tight smile. “Don’t count on it.”
