“I’ll just get my usual,” Skye said.
She walked to the coffeehouse area of the store housing several tables, a couch, and the counter where they served coffee, herbal and green teas, and pastries. While the rest of the store was light, bright, and colorful—Fae colors Claribel explained-the coffeehouse area was a warm dark green haven. Books were scattered everywhere and it had an herbal undernote smell overlapped with the scent of warm chocolate and home baked bread. Its coziness attracted students suffering from slight cases of homesickness and the lonely who yearned for a sense of belonging. Next to the crystal display area, it was Skye’s favorite part of the shop.
She plopped down in the soft velour of the reupholstered sofa with her Diet Coke, popped more aspirin for the nagging backache and closed her eyes. Much better.
“Your back botherin’ you again?”
Skye opened her eyes to find Delia, the coffeehouse manager, looking at her with concern.
“A little,” she admitted.
“Have a brownie.” Delia held out a plate of goodies. “Fresh from the oven.”
“I’m always up for chocolate in any form.” She bit into the warm brownie and moaned appreciatively. “You better stop feeding me so much. Forget the Freshman Ten; I’ve gained more like fifteen since I started working here.”
Delia laughed and patted her ample belly. “I’m glad I’ve reached an age where I don’t have to worry about keeping up my figure.”
Delia’s cheery normality never failed. She was well into her sixties, but had the energy of one half her age. Most of the customers called her ‘Mama D’. She had a way of making everyone feel special and wanted. She almost single-handedly ran the coffee shop part of the business. She was always the first one at the store and usually one of the last to leave.
Her only regular help was on Fridays and Saturdays when Kyle came in from his group home. She accepted all his unusual quirks and autistic behavior with patience. In the few months Kyle had been working there, he’d blossomed to such a degree the group home staff were astounded.
“Guess I better get back to it Mama D, before Glenna has a fit.”
“Don’t worry about Glenna. If it’s not you, she’ll find someone else to make the brunt of her foul moods.”
But the early evening was their busiest time so Skye returned to work. She helped customers find what they searched for, stocked several boxes of new books, and assisted Delia as much as she could in the coffee shop. Glenna sat permanently ensconced behind the cash register, not volunteering to do anything that required getting out of her chair.
Claribel darted in and out of her office, ushering in clients for tarot readings. In between the readings, Skye fetched her cups of tea or hot pastries. Claribel had arthritis in her feet and ankles, and walking too much in the store made it worse. She usually wore hot pink fuzzy house slippers at work. Comfortable, but a professional look it was not.
***
“I’ll need the chiastolite crystal for my mission,” Kheelan said. He pulled on his leather jacket and checked the mirror one last time to make sure he looked presentable for human company. It had nothing to do with wanting to impress that girl. He frowned at his reflection, then picked up the comb and ran it through his hair.
Finvorra pursed his full lips. “Ye can’t leave now, I haven’t had my supper.” His Guardian leaned back in the recliner, stretching out his long legs with their misshapen, deformed toes. He took another swig of Scottish whiskey, straight from the bottle.
“I’ve got some beef stew in the slow cooker. There’s plenty of it should you have company.”
“Ye better have made it with those little pearl onions I fancy. I imagined eating food would be the most distasteful part of my assignment in having to don a mortal body, but I find I quite enjoy it.” He directed a boozy grin at Kheelan.
Worst Guardian ever. In the six months they’d been together, Finvorra had done nothing but lay in his recliner and boss him around all day before falling into a drunken stupor in the evenings. At least he wasn’t particular about the housecleaning like the last Guardian. Rhoswen had kept him busy constantly, making elixirs, planting her precious flowers, and chasing her Fae cat all over the place. Worse, Rhoswen never drank, so she was always alert, making sure he never had a moment to sneak looks at her fairy grimoire. The only thing she allowed him to read were the detailed household account ledgers. Most of the Fae were meticulous record keepers.
“The crystal?” Kheelan prodded, when Finvorra closed his eyes and let out a drunken snore.
“Um, hmm, right . . . it’s over there.” He gestured in the general vicinity of his desk.
Kheelan seethed under his jacket. “May I have the key please?”
Finvorra fumbled a moment, searching his pants pockets and then tossed it on the ground by Kheelan’s feet.