He turned back to face me, his smile warming me through my thin jacket. "Trex," he said, extending his hand across the aisle.
Oh my God, I probably looked a mess, but I reached for his hand, hoping my fingers had warmed up as I took it. "Hi, Trex. I'm Rachel."
Trex's eyes went from my tattoo to the bracelet of charmed silver peeping out of my cuff, then back to the tattoo fluff on my neck. "You're Rachel Morgan? Black dandelion pack? Let's have a squint at it."
Wow, word gets around fast. Flustered, I turned and yanked my shirt aside to show him.
Trex drew close for an instant, then pulled back, whistling in appreciation. "That's new," he said, and I spun back around. "Emojin?"
I nodded, propping myself against the back of the next seat up when we hit a bump. We were heading into Cincy over the bridge. There wasn't much traffic on a Saturday afternoon, and we'd be right downtown in a matter of minutes if we didn't have to stop for anyone. That was cool. I could get a coffee before I headed to the FIB. My own first cup was still sitting untouched on the kitchen counter. "Yes. She inked me last night."
"Quality." His eyes fixed on mine, he pulled his coat and shirt aside to show an hourglass broken by a thorny rose vine. Red sand spilled out like blood. "Blood sand," he said. "Good to meet you."
"It's a pleasure," I said, deciding that it was. I was never going to see this man again, but that was part of the joy. He was here, I was here, we were sharing a moment, and it wouldn't impact my future one bit.
My phone began ringing in my back pocket. It was on vibrate, but I think Trex could hear it, since his eyes went to it. I ignored it, smiling at him. "Your phone is ringing," Trex finally said, and I sighed, reaching around to my back pocket and slumping in the seat when I saw the church's number.
"It's Wayde," I said glumly as I dropped it into my shoulder bag, wondering if he knew how to track me with a live phone. "The guy in boxers."
"You need some help ditching him?"
Just the offer meant the world to me, and I gave him a bright smile. We were already among Cincy's tall buildings. I could run my errand and be back in a few hours, easy. "Thanks, but no," I said as I stood, seeing Junior's just down the block. "I'm good. It was a pleasure."
He nodded, his lips still curved up, but with disappointment in his eyes. He had no idea how much that meant to me, and I could have hugged him. I'd been shunned and reviled for so long that even this harmless flirting felt great. I could not go back, but I could go forward. David was right. A show of pack membership had rubbed out the stigma of being a demon. At least for Trex here.
"Have a good run," he said as the bus came to a stop and I headed for the door.
I didn't think he meant my errand to the FIB, but rather a run run. He knew what I was doing. I got off the bus, wishing I'd worn a heavier coat as I stood in the cool wind coming off the river. The door shut, and the bus took off. I resisted the urge to wave to Trex, but barely. I smiled up at the bright sky, enjoying being alone while surrounded by thousands. Maybe I could grab a late breakfast somewhere after dumping off the amulets.
I walked away, feeling sassy despite my garden shoes squishing. Coffee. Yeah. That sounded good.
The chimes on the handle reminded me of Jenks's kids' laughter as I pushed the glass door open. Warm air smelling of coffee and ginger enveloped me, and I immediately felt warmer. I paused just past the threshold to take in the familiar tables and booths, and the weird pictures of babies dressed up as fruit and flowers. I still didn't get it.
I was leaving mud behind as I went to place my order. Junior's had only recently opened a drive-through window, and though it was busy outside, the tables held only a few people. Most of them looked like they were drumming up business, their advertising logos prominently showing as they interviewed potential acolytes.
Rubbing the cold from my arms, I went to the pastry shelves, deciding I'd treat myself. I hadn't had breakfast yet, much less my first coffee.
"Hi, what can I get for you today?"
I looked up to see Junior - or Mark, rather - with a bright red manager tag on his apron. He was smiling professionally at me, and I smiled back, but then his expression clouded. "What are you doing here?" he barked as he recognized me.
My smile faded. "Getting a coffee." I pulled myself to my full height in my soggy, muddy garden shoes. "I'm not shunned anymore. Okay?" The patrons looked up, and I lifted my chin. Squinting at him, I put my palm on the counter, making sure my band of charmed silver hit it with a small clink.
Mark looked at it. He was a witch - I'd seen him make a circle before - and he knew what it was. But like everyone else, he probably thought that the coven of moral and ethical standards had put it on me to keep me from doing any magic.
"I can take it off if it bothers you," I said lightly, running a finger along the inside.
Mark frowned and backed up a step. I figured he'd put himself in an uninvoked circle - having them behind the counter was standard practice in case of attempted armed robberies. My good mood was falling apart.
"What do you want?"
It was flat and hostile, but I couldn't blame him - much. Last year, I'd almost trashed the place trying to catch a banshee and her psychotic serial-killer husband. Then just a few months ago, my ex-boyfriend Nick had caused a scene to give me time to escape a member of the coven. Mark hadn't known it was me then, but the papers had made it public. It made me wonder if Junior's had been built on some kind of "galactic time-warp continuum." Everything seemed to start or end here.
"I'd like two of the mini scones," I said, then added, "No, make that three." I'd take one back to Jenks and the kids. "And a grande latte, double espresso, Italian blend. Light on the froth, skim milk." Whole milk would have been better, but the scones were rich.
Mark was writing this all on the side of a cup, which he then tossed to another barista. "You want your scones warmed up?" he asked, his tone stiff, but at least he was civil.
Smiling insincerely, I said, "Yes, please," then handed him the ten I had waiting.
He took my money and gave me my change. I hesitated, then decided against the tip.
Watching to be sure he didn't hex my food, I slid down the counter. From the other end of the coffeehouse came a cheerful "Double espresso, low froth, low cal. Grande. On the counter!"
That had to be mine, but Mark was taking my scones out of the oven and shoving them in a bag. His brow was furrowed as he folded the bag over and extended it to me.