Caffeinated Magic: Supernatural Barista Academy

by Rylee Sanibel

  “Um, I can quite easily get you another towel if you want. We do have more than one, you know.”

  For no reason that she could think of a moment later, Abby said nonchalantly, “No, it’s fine. If you just want to start at my feet then it’s no bother.”

  Frederick shrugged. “Okay,” he said.

  Once more he started at her feet, rubbing with his strong thumbs at her toes, along the sides of her feet and around her ankle bones. Abby tried to keep her wits about her a little more this time, especially as Frederick could see her face. She didn’t want to fall into a similar torpor which seemed to have ushered in the subconscious fantasy of Drake. She tried, instead, to focus on Frederick’s finger movements, to see whether she could puzzle out just how he got such a positive response from her aching muscles and bruised skin. He had said that he was human, but Abby had never heard of a human being having such an intuitive feel for someone else’s body.

  Idly, languidly, Abby started to speculate if Frederick was as talented in private as he was in the office. Trying to maintain a passive face, she imagined what a man like that – someone with an paranormal ability to read another’s body and mold it like warm wax into a shape that was both comfortable and delightful – was like in bed. If his fingers were that skilled running over her body, what would they feel like inside of her body?

  Easy does it, Abby thought. But, of course, it’s one thing to identify temptation, and another thing entirely to resist it. Her treacherous mind became more intent on exploring this intriguing hypothetical the more she tried to steer it away, and things weren’t helped by the way that Frederick’s dexterous fingers continued their patient climb up her body.

  Abby could feel the heat building in her groin, the unmistakable, smoldering spark of lust intent on combusting into a full-on forest fire which would only be quenched by basic sexual gratification. She knew – as Frederick rubbed oil over her knees and began to skate his hands across the bottom of her quadriceps – that she should stop thinking about how wonderful and fulfilling it would be, should the man slide his hand up her towel, but she couldn’t. It was like probing with your tongue at a sore tooth; the temptation overrode all logical thoughts. Abby moaned softly. She felt the warmth in her pussy turning to wetness.

  Without thinking of what she was doing, forgetting for a moment where she was and that Frederick was even there, Abby dropped the hand that had been covering her tits to her side. Frederick’s massaging did not falter, but he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to grab you another towel?”

  Abby’s mouth had gone suddenly dry, so she shook her head and made a forbidding noise in her throat. She thought she heard Frederick give a little chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  He continued to run his hands over her quads, squeezing the life back into them with masterful patience and care. At one point, Abby caught her breath as a couple of his fingertips skimmed so far up the inside of her thigh that she worried that he might encounter some of her escaped wetness, but Frederick never paused or gave any indication that he realized just how wild with desire he was making her.

  Just when Abby thought that she was going to have to tell him to hurry up and go down on her, or else let her burst with sexual frustration, Frederick’s fingers stopped.

  Abby cracked her eyelids so that she could see the fit man standing at the end of the bench between her feet. The combined smell of the oils and the burning dried herbs was thick in the air.

  “Would you mind very much if I was to take my shirt off?” Frederick said, his voice as placid and reasonable as if he’d asked her whether she’d mind him having a drink of water. “It’s getting a little stuffy in here.”

  Not trusting her voice, Abby gave a soft grunt of compliance, trying to sound as indifferent as Frederick did.

  Through the tiny gap in her eyelids, Abby watched Frederick remove his snug-fitting polo shirt, revealing a torso that looked like it’d been hewn out of marble. His skin was alabaster white, and every muscle in his stomach and chest was picked out in perfect detail, as if the man had been carved.

  It was an astonishing sight and it took all of Abby’s willpower to not open her eyes and drink him in. What with being oiled up to the elbows, this paragon of masculine perfection almost had Abby involuntarily opening her legs in willing supplication. Gods, it’d been so long since she’d been with a guy.

  And where’s the harm? she asked herself. What’s the difference? What are you holding out for?

  But she knew, of course. Unbidden to her mind, an image of Drake’s face swam in front of her retinas. She saw him sitting in the sauna, his great, muscular body gleaming with sweat. The set of his jaw, the beautiful and mysterious scales across the tops of his shoulders and thighs, the scar that didn’t mar his masculinity so much as enhance it…

  Abby’s confused musings were interrupted by Frederick’s voice.

  “I’m just going to start on the front of your torso now, Miss Hall, but I’ll start at your head again. Is that okay?”

  Once more Abby bobbed her head in acquiescence.

  Frederick started once more on her head, his fingers burrowing into her hair while he placed one of the crescent starfish on her shoulder. His fingers swirled through her hair, pressed her temples and the –

  “Ow!” Abby said, wincing despite the numbing coffee and the starfish. It felt as if Frederick had yanked a good few strands out.

  “Sorry,” Frederick said sincerely, but Abby heard the incongruous sound of a rustle of plastic. “You had a little dreadlock in here!”

  Her eyes, still closed, did not see the little plastic bag that Frederick slipped into his pocket, containing the hairs he had plucked from her head.

  Frederick continued to massage across her head, using his fingertips to smooth around Abby’s cheekbone and under her eyes and jaw. His hands moved down onto her neck, her throat and onto her chest, where they glided smoothly over her collarbone, pressing here and there and drawing some quite embarrassing groans from Abby.

  Then they started to run over the soft, smooth skin of the tops of her breasts, and Abby realized that, if she let them, things were going to get a lot more intense.

  And why not let them? she thought. It’s been so long since you got any action.

  But then Drake’s big, stern, handsome face floated down in front of her closed eyes.

  “Frederick,” Abby said suddenly, the ghost of an apology floating about her words, “I’ve got to go.”

  Frederick’s hands slid slowly to a halt. The oiled fingertips, which had been running around and smoothing the tension out of her neck and the chest stopped just shy of her hard, aching nipples.

  “We’re so close to being finished, Miss Hall,” he said quietly.

  “Would you mind passing me a towel?” Abby asked. She opened her eyes and gave him a small, apologetic smile.

  “Of course,” he said.

  Abby wrapped a towel around herself and walked quickly into the changing room. Already, she could feel the marked difference in how her body felt. It was as if, on entering the room, she had been bent and buried under the weight of a sudden onset of old age. Now, after an hour with Frederick, she felt almost entirely back to her old self. There were still a couple of sensitive spots but, all in all, she felt as if all she needed now was a good ten-hour sleep and a huge breakfast washed down with about a gallon of decaf.

  Abby stood staring down at the pile of torn, filthy clothes that she had worn in here. They looked like they smelled, and she suddenly found herself unwilling to take the time to pull them on. The towel would do. She didn’t want to appear as if she’d been freaked out by what had almost transpired and was rushing to get the hell out of there – she hadn’t been freaked out, that was the thing. It was just that, somehow, with the imminent possibility of she and Frederick having a good time doing the bad thing, she had realized that there was someone else that she’d rather have oil her up and make her crazy.

  Where is that big godda
mn brute? she wondered.

  Would Drake still be closeted with Miss Hightide? If he wasn’t, where the heck could he be? The S.B.A. was a veritable warren of tunnels and rooms and the chances of her just running into him would be pretty slim.

  Abby exited the changing room, wishing she had something other than just this goddamn tiny towel. Now that she was all relaxed and refreshed in body and mind, she would’ve given a lot to be in some fresh jeans and a new T-shirt.

  “Frederick,” she said, making the masseur look up from where he was tidying up his equipment. He had his shirt on now, which Abby’s shaky resolve was thankful for.

  “Yes, Miss Hall?”

  “I just wanted to say thank you,” Abby said. “And that, if you don’t have a girlfriend, I’m pretty sure that you could get one without even opening your mouth if they were willing to take a chance and just lie down on that table. You do have magic hands.”

  The man gave her a small smile, his light blue eyes shining with sudden mischief. “Well, as much as I hope that you stay out of trouble, a part of me is already eager to see you back here,” he said. “If you ever decide that you’re interested in seeing what tricks these hands can do as a grand finale.”

  Abby went to say something, but words failed her. It was either stay for a twenty-minute explanation and debrief on what had happened or say nothing at all. As a compromise, she gave him a wink and left.

  “Miss Hall, your clothes –” Frederick started, but Abby was gone.

  As she walked down the hallway and back out into the reception area, Abby’s mind was already whirring and formulating possibilities on where Drake could be. Chances were that he was in his room sleeping. This didn’t act as any deterrent for her, but it did make her realize that she had absolutely no idea as to where Drake’s sleeping quarters might be.

  As she left the med-block with her head down in thought, she almost ran straight into the beautiful lion-like creature that had busted into her sister’s apartment that day with Drake, the animal that had pinned her to a sofa with only its eyes.

  “You!” she exclaimed, relieved that there was something –if not someone – who would probably know where Drake was.

  “I need you to take me to Drake,” she said, not worrying whether this could be as futile as asking a dog the way to the nearest library.

  The hunting-lion looked at Abby and growled deep in its throat. It turned and started to walk away. After it had taken about ten steps, it turned and regarded her. Then it growled again.

  “Please don’t just be taking me to where you take a shit,” Abby muttered as she started to walk.

  She followed the hunting-lion, jogging at some points to try and keep up with the creature’s supernaturally long, bounding strides. After five minutes or so, they emerged into a hall that looked familiar to Abby. When they reached a heavy door, Abby suddenly realized where she was. It was the cavern in which she had disturbed Drake with the stunning mermaid.

  Abby gave the hunting-lion a quizzical look, but the animal’s face was inscrutable as it nodded toward the door. Frowning slightly, Abby pushed it open and walked inside. She turned back to see if the creature wanted to follow, but it was gone.

  Abby climbed the bank of loose stone that screened the lake below from view. As she scrambled up, she deliberated on what it was she was going to say to Drake when she saw him. Was he going to be pissed that she was disturbing him here again?

  She crested the rise, her head still spinning like a bicycle wheel that’s come off its chain as it tried to think of something that wouldn’t make her sound like a crazy person.

  Looking down the slope to the edge of the water where she expected to see Drake, Abby couldn’t help but notice that the bank was devoid of any large, muscular hunk-types. However, someone was standing down there. That, someone, was Miss Delphine Hightide.

  Abby ran down the slope, not worried in the least about appearing before Miss Hightide dressed only in a towel – and a small towel at that. She was filled with a sudden foreboding and looked questioningly at the woman. Without a word, Miss Hightide pointed out over the water.

  Abby followed her gaze and saw a small rowboat moving away from them. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking the man at the oars.

  “But where’s he going?” she asked. It was a question to the world in general, but Miss Hightide fielded it.

  “There has been a slight problem. Something arose that necessitated me calling an impromptu council of both Guardians and Masters alike. You might not be aware, but Guardians are those of us who have passed through the rigors of training at the Supernatural Barista Academy and emerged out the other side as fully-trained members of our order. Masters are the same, though they are those of us who have elected to teach the next generation of supernaturals, rather than continue being active agents for our cause.” Seeing Abby’s impatient stare, Miss Hightide said, “In a nutshell, Drake was called before a council of his peers over a dispute that had arisen. He was weighed and measured, and he was found wanting. He has been banished. That is all I can tell you.”

  The ethereal woman gestured out toward the fading speck on the water. Even as Abby turned back, her eyes wide with disbelief, the tiny figure in the boat seemed to shimmer for a moment on the edge of sight and then was absorbed into the vastness of the water and shadow.

  “He is gone,” Miss Hightide said softly.

  Without realizing it, Abby dropped slowly to one knee. She bent her head as tears filled her eyes. Pain filled her chest, a pain comprised of regret and frustration and a sudden understanding of the working of her own heart.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, looking down at her knee and the gravel as the hot tears blurred her vision.

  In a poignant rush of understanding, she realized that it was very likely that she’d come to love the big, handsome brute.

  Chapter 8

  Abby couldn’t remember getting back to her room that evening. She was aware that Miss Hightide was with her, had opened her door and shepherded her inside. She had explained some things, but they were just meaningless words that waddled through one of Abby’s ears and plopped out of the other, leaving no trace of meaning behind them.

  After the excitement of the Assessment Duels, classes had settled back down to comfortable monotony. Or at least that might’ve been how Abby viewed it, had she not been unable to rouse herself to anything that even resembled enthusiasm. In a week or so since she had watched Drake rowing away across the subterranean lake, Abby had become increasingly listless.

  Coinciding with Drake’s departure, their combat classes had now changed and evolved to incorporate new aspects of learning to fight as a Guardian. The sanguine and unruffled Master Tamper had been replaced by the excitable and explosively tempered Master Spiridon, a tall, good-looking, crimson-haired fae with seven fingers on each hand, violet eyes, gorgeous wings and a brain so sharp that the students had nicknamed him ‘Razor.’

  It was Master Spiridon’s job, so he said, to train them in the subtle and dangerous art of coffee spells. This had been something that Abby had been chomping at the bit to start, as it was another facet of training in which she and Radella would be starting on even footing.

  That had, however, been before Drake had left her without a word. Now it was all Abby could do to muster the energy to show up to her lessons on time, let alone give a shit about what she was learning in them. The thought of the last hours they had spent together in the sauna tortured her in daydreams. She regretted the tendency that adults had to close themselves off from others and refrain from making declarations until it was too late.

  Why didn’t you goddamn tell him how you felt, idiot? Abby reprimanded herself, for what felt like the six hundredth time, as she sat in the back of her combat class. But the answer was obvious: because she hadn’t known how she felt until the shock of seeing Drake leaving for good opened her heart so that she was able to take a good, hard look at her feelings.

  Master Spiridon w
as talking animatedly about how he was going to teach them how to brew a Peacan Stinger coffee.

  “If brewed correctly,” he said in his refined, slightly condescending voice, “this little baby can be decanted into a to-go espresso cup, tossed through a doorway or window into a room containing enemies, and it’ll go off like the Fourth of July, blinding, scalding and disorienting anyone within the blast radius. It also has the added effect of reacting violently with any target unfortunate enough to have a nut allergy!”

  Radella and her cronies all tittered admiringly. It seemed that she and her minions had taken quite a shine to their new instructor. Spiridon was, as even Abby had noticed, extremely attractive in a scholarly way. He was tall and whip-thin, moving with the grace and deliberate poise of a ballerina. His forehead was high and clear, and his crimson hair coiffed into a style that spoke of a vanity that was matched only by a particular skill with the hairbrush. Somehow, though, as much of a dandy as he seemed, Abby had the impression that Master Spiridon was a dangerous fae, a pretty rose with some hidden and deadly thorns.

  Spiridon was also extremely knowledgeable. He had, over the past week, already taught them how to brew up a Winter Whisper frappe, which, when thrown at an adversary, would temporarily ice their feet to the ground; and a Sneaky Shin Shin, which was a brew that could be poured into a locking mechanism to open all but the most securely locked doors.

  It had certainly been interesting, and Abby had taken to it with the natural aplomb of a scientist. The mixing and measuring and straining and testing took her back to her university days, and she marveled at how separate that part of her life now felt from the one that she was living. It had the distant qualities of a dream now, brightly colored and unreal in her memory.

  Her skill and natural aptitude at brewing coffee spells had not gone unnoticed by Master Spiridon. And, had Abby been inclined to take notice of such things, she would’ve realized that Master Spiridon had taken quite an interest in the sullen young woman who sat at the back of his class with the hood of her sweater up.