by Jess Haines
Some of the tension in her shoulders eased as the sense of being watched faded with the growing distance between herself and the man trailed by her illusory doppelganger. Once they turned a corner, she dropped her makeshift camouflage and picked up her pace to beat the blinking red hand at the crosswalk. She had no watch or cell phone to check the time, but judging by the angle of the sun, she was going to be at least twenty minutes late for her shift.
Buildings with chrome and marble facades flew by, soon replaced by brick and glass. She bolted down the street, dodging pedestrians, trees, hot dog carts, and even the occasional cab as she rocketed through crosswalks. The scents of the city drowned out the spring growth, sporadic patches of trees, bushes and flowers barely noticeable under the coffee and pizza and hot pastries and alcohol and urine and smog all vying for dominance.
Breathing hard, she slid to a halt in front of Allegretto’s Café, just a few blocks north of the theater district and a little too far from Times Square to attract many tourists on foot. It was more a bakery than a café. The mouth-watering scent of fresh vanilla custard, chocolate cannoli and anisette biscotti that wafted out as she pulled the glass door open attested to that. Don Allegretto insisted they were a family establishment first, a coffee house second, a bakery third, and anything else dead last.
She thought Don’s priorities were hilarious considering the flyer for the latest Mothers Against Others neighborhood meeting taped to the glass inside, right next to the café’s hours of operation. The agenda for the latest meeting included “how to talk to your kids about saying no to vampires” and “spotting the signs of glamour in your loved ones.” Don or his wife must have posted the flyer that morning, seeing as it hadn’t been there when Kimberly locked up the night before. Most of the time Don was a nice guy, but he didn’t have a clue what Kimberly was and had said a few unkind things about Others in front of her that had set her teeth on edge.
Shaking her head over the flyer, she slipped inside. A couple were browsing the displays of pastries, affably arguing over whether to split a few biscotti or rainbow cookies along with their coffee, and old Mister Grimaldi was checking out the racks of fresh-baked bread. Kimberly nodded and waved to Annabelle, the clerk she should have relieved 18 minutes earlier. The clock behind the register ticked forward another minute, the hands moving like an accusation. A moment’s concentration made Kimberly’s simple T-shirt under her jacket look like her work shirt, and dispelled any signs of sweat or B.O. from her mad dash across town.
Her stomach growled as the warm, mouth-watering scent of pastries and coffee washed over her. Despite the anxiety twisting her stomach into knots, hunger was rearing its ugly head. She had a fleeting wish that she could cast an illusion on herself to make either the scents or the hunger disappear, but while she could fool anyone else’s senses with her magic, she was immune to her own phantasms.
Ignoring her stomach growling, she moved behind the counter. Annabelle turned from the cappuccino she was making, pointed to the clock and mouthed, ‘I gotta go. You got this?’
Kimberly nodded. She tossed her bag under the register counter and shrugged out of her jacket before taking over for Annabelle. The tall, willowy blonde shot her a weary smile and blew a few errant tendrils of hair out of her face as she got out of the way. A few quick hand signals later and Kimberly had all the info she needed about who had ordered what and who still needed to pay, and Annabelle was bolting out the door.
In a few moments, Kimberly handed the couple two cappuccinos, two rainbow cookies, and one fig-walnut biscotti to share, and Mister Grimaldi was settled with two loaves of his favorite sesame bread and a rosette. She breathed a sigh of relief into the quiet once the last customer shuffled out, giving her a moment of peace to sag against the back counter with the espresso machine and coffee maker and relax.
“Kimberly! Get your ass in my office,” rumbled a deep, male voice.
Cringing, she twisted around to meet her boss’s glare, hoping the heat on her cheeks from her guilty blush wasn’t too obvious. “Sure, Don. Just give me a minute to finish cleaning.”
Don stood by the kitchen door, currently propped open by his steel-toed boot. His thinning hair was hidden under a bandana and his long-sleeved Rolling Stones T-shirt was rolled up past his elbows. He watched her rinse off the mixer and finish wiping the counters, his flour-covered hands clasping his thick, hairy forearms. As soon as she was done, he stepped aside, still holding the swinging door open for her.
She headed straight to his office, a tiny closet of a space made even more claustrophobic by the addition of a filing cabinet, chipped Ikea desk, and single rolling chair. There was a security monitor perched on the desk that he used to keep an eye on the front. The camera was angled down to catch anyone entering or leaving, as well as view the contents of the register.
Don waited until she was inside. The office door banged shut behind his bulk and he moved around his desk to place his knuckles on it, leaning forward. The fiberboard creaked alarmingly under his weight. “What time does your shift start?”
Miserable, Kimberly stared down at her shoes. “Four. Sir.”
“And what time was it when you arrived?”
“4:18, sir.”
Don heaved a deep sigh, his tone mellowing as he eased into his chair. The leather squealed almost as much as the rusted wheels as he settled back. “Kimberly, I like you. You’re a good kid, but I need you here on time. At least give me the courtesy of a call if you’re running late. I can’t keep paying the others overtime when you don’t show. This is the last warning I’m going to give, kiddo.”
She nodded, dragging her gaze up from her shoes to focus on the curling laminate that was peeling off of the fiberboard on the edge of his desk instead. “I’m sorry. I would have called, but I don’t have a phone. One of my teachers wanted to talk to me after class and I couldn’t say no.”
“You’re the only kid I know who doesn’t have their own cell phone. Hell, my six-year-old daughter has an iPad.”
Your kid doesn’t depend on a single parent who works minimum wage part time jobs, she carefully didn’t say. Instead, she mumbled, “I’m really sorry, Don. I’m almost done with school. As soon as the first week of May rolls around, I’m out.”
Out of this job. Out of this life. Into a coven with people who understood and valued what she could do. Even if she had to carve a position out herself, prove to them she wasn’t dangerous. She had to make it work, otherwise she’d never make more than the pittance she did as a barista and sometime-baker for Don. That, or she might spend the rest of her life on the run from angry magi who wanted nothing more than to get rid of her.
Don’s eyes narrowed, lines appearing around his mouth. She wished she’d thought to say something else, something that wouldn’t make him suspect she planned on walking out of this place the moment she had something better lined up, but movement on the monitor drew his eye off her.
“Customer. Go take care of it.”
With a relieved nod, she headed back to man the register, plastering on a smile she didn’t feel as she greeted another one of their regulars.
For the rest of the evening, business was brisk. The moment one order was filled, another customer took the last one’s place. It got busier as the evening wore on, people strolling in looking for dessert or an after-dinner coffee. Don emerged from his office around 8PM to prep the bread, croissants, muffins, scones, danishes and rolls for the morning shift, as well as popping in to check on Kimberly and lend a hand now and then when things got too busy. He even laughed when she teased him about the dabs of flour on his face.
A couple hours after sunset, midway into Kimberly’s shift, a vampire and her human companion came into the shop together. The two weren’t doing a thing to hide what they were, and were practically joined at the hip with each others’ hands in the other’s back jean pockets. Her eyes glimmered with a touch of red from some strong emotion—maybe hunger, or maybe she was turned on by the guy’s touch�
�and every time she laughed or smiled her fangs peeked out behind lips painted a slick, shiny red. The guy had fresh bite marks on his neck, along with a patchwork of similar scars that he hadn’t bothered to cover with so much as a band-aid. His free hand was constantly roving, brushing against her cheek, twining with her hair, and his smile was deep, genuine, and infectious.
The pair got in line, and the man gestured to a couple of things in the display the vampire didn’t see since she was so focused on leaving a few lipstick imprints as she got on tiptoe to pepper his cheek and jaw with kisses. Kimberly grinned. The two made a cute pair.
Once they reached the counter, Don not-so-surreptitiously interposed himself between Kimberly and the couple, and he called over the woman bundled in a thick wool duster behind them.
The vampire frowned, and the guy looked over his shoulder as the lady stepped around him to take their spot in line. When the vampire opened her mouth to protest, her companion shook his head and pulled her aside. The lady in the duster edged around them with a furtive, guilty look, then ordered a cappuccino and a couple of pastries.
“Don, scoot over, I’ll take care of those two.”
He shook his head, gesturing for Kimberly to get the woman’s drink. Casting a helpless look at the vampire and her beau, she did what she was ordered. She focused on the hiss of the espresso machine and breathing in the sweet, heavenly-scented steam as she silently counted to ten so she wouldn’t say something she’d regret later. It wasn’t fair, but she had already screwed up once tonight and couldn’t afford to risk alerting Don to what she really was. She thought it was unfortunate the two hadn’t taken notice of the flyer in the window; they might have realized sooner that Others weren’t welcome here.
As soon as the woman in the duster was served, Don leaned over to see around the vampire and her donor as they stepped up to the counter so he could wave the next couple in line forward. The vampire growled softly, sending everyone but the guy at her side skittering back a step or two. Kimberly tensed, her stomach knotting as she prepared to summon what little elemental energy she could if things got ugly.
The vampire’s voice was sweet and melodious, commanding attention. “Pardon me, but I do believe we were in line first.”
“Go ahead,” the guy behind her said, his jerky wave at the counter speaking of his nervousness. “I’m not in a rush.”
“Forget it. It’s my shop, and I’ll serve people in whatever order I want,” Don said.
The vampire set her hand on top of the glass display, leaning forward. “What is the problem here? Why won’t you serve us?”
“We don’t serve your kind here,” Don snapped.
Save for the vampire and Don matching glares, and Kimberly’s horrified focus on Don’s stubborn expression, every eye in the room was roving to find anything else to look at.
Kimberly could have told Don that meeting the vampire’s eyes was a terrible idea, but she couldn’t risk blowing her cover and losing her job. He wasn’t in much danger anyway. The vampire would be hunted down and killed if she did something so blatant as to mess with Don’s thoughts in front of so many witnesses, even for something as relatively insignificant as making him change his mind about serving them some pastries. Black enchants like that were illegal for good reason.
Don’s discrimination against serving Others was also illegal, but no one—including the only other Other in the place—was up to meeting the vampire’s shocked gaze as she scanned for anyone who might support her and call Don out on his bigotry. Even her companion wasn’t up to it, tugging her arm to get her to follow him out.
“Babe, come on. They obviously don’t want our business. We’ll give ‘em a shitty Yelp review and hit Starbucks instead.”
The vampire gave one more half-hearted growl before giving in to her lover’s urging, stalking out of the café with him.
For a few moments, everyone stayed right where they were, unmoving, not speaking. Then Don shook his head and waved at the next couple in line, who were both still staring out the window. Everybody jerked into movement simultaneously, busying themselves with forgetting what they had just witnessed, chattering nervously to each other or focusing too intently on the cookies and pastries behind the glass bakery display case.
Kimberly kept her head down and immersed herself in her work, silently repeating her mantra: You need the money. Stick with it until you graduate. Just a few more weeks to go. You can do this.
She prayed the sweet scents of coffee, sugar, and buttery pastries wouldn’t provoke nausea everywhere she went after she left this job behind.
Things were strained between Kimberly and Don for the remainder of the night, but the shop closed on time at 10PM. Kimberly finished tying off the last of the bags of leftover cookies and other sweets. The day old bags always sold out within hours of opening the next morning. There were no croissants or loaves, but there were three rosettes. Don had finished reconciling the register a few minutes prior and handed over her share of $14.27 in cash from the tip jar after she put the last bag of cookies in the discount basket on top of the glass display case. She did her best to hide her disappointment at the paltry sum, stuffing the money in her pocket, where the brush of the parchment-like business card against the back of her hand reminded her she had somewhere to be in half an hour.
As she shrugged on her jacket, Don nudged her arm on his way back into the kitchen.
“Take some of the day olds,” he said. “On the house.”
Don handed her a bag full of the leftover sweets, then a second one for some rosettes. Kimberly flushed and stammered out thanks that he waved off before the door swung shut behind him. She stuffed the puffy sandwich loaves into a second bag, then buried the food in her backpack. Then remembered she was supposed to bring a coffee, too.
Yanking two singles out of her pocket along with the card, she slapped the money on the counter for the drink, knowing Don would find it later.
Soon, she had the address to some place called the Wild Hunt memorized, an extra hot café latte (heavy on the cream with two shots of hazelnut) in hand, and braced herself to face a total stranger to ask him to help her do the impossible. Wrapped in her threadbare jacket and armed with sweets, she huddled against the chill night wind and tried not to be too nervous about the coming meeting, praying her professor was right.
If Cormac Hunter couldn’t help her find a familiar, she had no clue where else to turn.
CHAPTER THREE
The building housing the Wild Hunt was an eclectic mix of a walk-up and a studio in a trendier part of town, flirting with the edges of Chelsea and Hell’s Kitchen. It was too far north to be sandwiched in with the art galleries. Instead, it was just far enough east to crouch stubbornly between the Garment District and Midtown Manhattan’s serious-minded commercial buildings, as if daring either to encroach. Even the sign hung on the overhang above the door had a bit of brazen challenge to it, Kimberly thought. Full of loops and whorls, a metal contraption depicted golden words that spelled out the name of the business in hard, no-nonsense letters couched by a nest of bronze vines and thorns and ivy leaves speckled with pale green spots of oxidation from the weather.
There were no windows at street level, which she thought exceptionally odd. There was no heavy thump of music or sound of chatter from inside, so it wasn’t a club or restaurant. Curious, she double-checked the business card.
Right business name. Right address. No other info, save for the name of the proprietor. That, and the thick, creamy paper put her in mind of supple leather. Expensive.
Carefully cradling the drink, she took the stairs two at a time and tried the oversized front door. It swung open on well-oiled hinges, and light spilled out, momentarily blinding her.
As she stepped inside, the hard, heavy pulse of a ward stopped her in her tracks, crackling over her skin like a smothering blanket of static electricity. Her fingers tightened and some of the coffee spilled through the top of the cup, staining the cuff of her shirt. This was
nothing like the wards she was used to, which usually stretched like cellophane in warning instead of hammering down like an invisible door slamming shut in your face.
“Do you have an appointment?”
The deep, disapproving voice drifting out of the shadows from somewhere beyond the labyrinthine stacks of furniture inside sounded far too much like Don for her peace of mind.
“Yes, I do. I’m Kimberly Wells, a student at Blackhollow Academy. Professor Reed sent me to meet with Mr. Hunter.” When the deep voice didn’t respond right away, she added a little more force to her tone. “He’s expecting me.”
A low harrumph was the only response the unseen source of that voice gave her. That, and the unexpected lack of invisible wall to prop her up as the ward disappeared, making her stumble and spill a bit more coffee on herself.
Cursing under her breath, she licked the sweet liquid off her hand and dropped the current illusion—her work shirt—then summoned a bit of power to make her school shirt appear spotless. The fabric was still wet and sticky against her skin, but she ignored it and stalked inside.
Intense magic tingled and bit at her skin. It was everywhere, and made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and her arms stand at rigid attention. Incense, furniture polish and dust drowned out the scent of everything else, though she passed a series of bookshelves with rack upon rack of herbs and common spell components. Even the dried garlic didn’t make an impression against the eye-watering combination of burning cedarwood, ginger, lotus, and a splash of myrrh. Curious, she picked up a bundle of sage, examining the tag as she navigated the furniture maze.
