“I didn’t forget. Becca took me to the Opera to see Faust.”
“Ah, a wonderful show.” He shifted his paws, crossing one over the other, “And you told her you were how old?”
I turned and quickly glanced at myself in the long mirror behind the bar. Nope, not seventy. I looked like I was a good solid twenty-nine or maybe thirty. Witches and warlocks could choose how fast they aged, if at all. I looked at my prime and intended to keep it that way as long as possible.
Unfortunately, many of our kind were forced to move from place to place every decade or so to keep from being found out.
Dressed in my long dark denim jacket, skinny black jeans, and blood red button up, I did have to admit to myself that I looked good. My neatly cropped pitch-black hair made me definitely look the part of a successful and trendy thirty-year-old business owner.
More than that, I didn’t feel seventy. I felt young, and for a warlock, I was practically still a baby to someone who was over six-hundred years old like my aunt.
“Becca thinks I’m twenty-nine.”
“Of course she does,” he laughed.
“Whatever, she isn’t going to find out I’m a warlock anytime soon. Besides, isn’t it against the Witch’s Reed to let a mortal know you’re a witch or warlock?” I reminded my familiar, who should have been the one spouting the age-old scripture created by my aunt and mother’s own coven to me.
“Well, your Aunt Theo would be the one to quote the Reed. Not me.”
“I thought you were supposed to be here to help protect me.”
His ears twitched and he looked straight at me. “I am, but I don’t see how repeating worn-out doctrines from an era of witchcraft that’s long dead, is going to help anyone.”
I chuckled, shaking my head at him. “Ever the cynic.”
“Just realistic, Adrian. Your Aunt is old-fashioned, which is good in many a sense. She lived through the witch hunts of both medieval Europe and early American. She was there when the Reed was created. She’s been present each time it’s been revised or updated. She is still afraid of what would happen if our existence became known.”
I shook my head. “We both know no one would believe it, and it isn’t worth wasting enough magical energy to convince mortals of something like that.”
“The point is, you’re from a new generation of witches, and as a familiar, I’m built to adapt to the ever-changing world. It’s my job to help you adapt, to be your companion and best friend--not just protect you.”
Reaching over, I scratched him on the top of his head. “And my world wouldn’t be the same without you, but for now, can we forget about witchcraft and focus on today? I’ve got to get these donuts out and get everything ready for the Family Book Day.”
“Will there be kids here?” he asked.
I furrowed my brow at him. “What kind of question is that? Of course, there will be kids here. It’s Family Book Day.”
“That’s what I thought,” he sighed, hopping down from the counter.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To hide in the break room, of course, until today is over.”
Chapter Three
“Oh, my gosh. Is that what I think it is?” excited voices clambered over one another as a group of customers crowded around the corner table near the front entrance.
It was already past noon and our third annual Family Book Day was in full swing. The crowd was bustling with all manner of customers from all sorts of backgrounds--precisely what I liked to see.
I’d always loved reading books about murder and mysteries, but as the years had gone by and it seemed like less and less people were supporting the library, I realized that fewer people (especially kids) were reading.
At this point, I was good friends with the local librarians, but I also knew they were having trouble keeping up to date children’s books on the shelves. Not to mention, funding for after-school activities, book clubs, and workshops was at an all-time low.
That was why I opened Coven Coffee. Not only was it a coffee shop, to fuel my obsession with the liquid gold I so loved, but it also acted as a free lending library. The entire shop had two-foot-high shelves wrapping around the outer edge of the room under the large windows beside the tables. They were all loaded with free books. Anyone could come in and pick up a book. There was also a drop box if you wanted to make a donation to the library fund near the door after picking out a book. I got all sorts of contributions every week of both new books to put out and funds to give to the library.
Additionally, all the drinks I sold had a percentage that went to the fund.
I wanted a totally inclusive space for people young and old. I wanted it to be family friendly but also to appeal to the crowd of people who liked to grab a drink on weekend evenings.
I even had a shelf of board games (mostly just old classics) behind the counter for people to play while they were there.
Looking around the shop that day, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride in my establishment. I spotted an elderly couple at one table looking over a stack of novels together while sipping tea. A family of four with two boys sat playing Risk. Then, of course, there were people playing, having drinks, out for a quick break, or even having business meetings.
One table of all young middle-school aged girls sat playing Dungeons and Dragons-- a trendy game that the local school district was using to help kids get more engaged in learning as well as to learn social skills. Watching their eyes light up as they imagined the story was so rewarding.
I always tried to keep old Dungeons and Dragons manuals on the shelves for kids to look at.
In any case, we had a full library--that any customer could come and peruse. People could also bring their own books or games.
I was also working on a deal with the school district that would create a free after-school program for kids of all ages. If we got a grant or enough donations, we could let the kids play, come in and read or play games from the library and even offer them a free non-alcoholic drink once a month--our hot chocolate was one of our biggest sellers among young customers.
Family Book Day was a big event I had held the past few years where all proceeds from drink purchases went directly to the fund. It included a big drawing late in the day around seven in the evening. You got one free ticket for showing up. You got one ticket for every book you brought in for donation. You also got a ticket for each drink you purchased.
I was beginning to worry that the roll of tickets I’d purchased wasn’t going to be long enough.
The corner table held all the prizes up for grabs. We had new books up for grabs, bags of locally roasted coffee, mugs with the Coven Coffee logo on them, a couple of favorite board games, coupons for free drinks, a coffee grinder, a home kitchen percolator, and most exciting of all, an old and out-of-print comic book that had been signed by the deceased designer. It was located in a glass lockbox because it was worth almost a thousand dollars, if not more.
All of the things up for grabs had been donated by other local small businesses, and the comic came from a friend’s shop. All of us who were part of Old Town, the downtown portion of Witchwater, Michigan, sort of had a camaraderie to support one another. I personally would have never thought to include a comic in the drawing, but thanks to my friend, we’d gotten way more drink purchases and donations than I ever imagined.
“I still can’t believe it,” one young man in his early twenties was gushing, his fingers shaking as he reached out toward the glass display box for the comic. He was a regular. He was a bit pudgy around the edges and wore a pair of thick glasses. His brown hair was combed over to one side in what I’d heard called the, “Missionary Cut,” by some of his friends.
It was just another way of saying that he was a clean-cut fellow.
He was known for being a real sweetheart, always willing to buy his friends drinks, complimenting the employees, leaving nice tips. He was the sort of person who liked to be everyone’s friend.
“I need it, Nathaniel. I need that comic,” he whispered, but still loudly enough for me to hear from behind the counter where I was taking a coffee order from a young married couple.
His best friend (who almost always came in with him) stood nearby as well. He seemed a little bit like a polar opposite of his friend. Lean, tall, with a beautiful head of bleached blonde hair, a chiseled jawline, and a winning smile, Nathaniel was sort of a ladies’ man. He often brought a different girl as a date to the shop each weekend.
“Don’t worry, Ryan,” he declared, slapping his friend on the back. “Maybe if I win it, I’ll gift it to you.”
“Really?” he exclaimed.
Nathaniel laughed out loud. “I doubt either of us will win it, but maybe.”
“Come on. We need to buy as many drinks as possible to get tickets,” Ryan gushed.
I felt bad for Ryan. While he acted like everyone’s friend, it didn’t always seem reciprocal. I could tell he felt uncomfortable when his friend brought a new girl every week. He acted sort of shy around pretty girls, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out he had a tad bit of jealousy and resentment for his playboy of a best friend.
I wondered if he ever had a girlfriend.
“Okay, we’ll get drinks. You up for a game of chess?” Nathaniel asked.
“You bet,” Ryan agreed.
Chess was their pass time of choice whenever they came in without a girl. They both seemed pretty good at it, but Nathaniel came off as almost professional.
They quickly got in line behind other customers to order drinks. I couldn’t help but smile at everyone’s excitement as I looked to help the next customer. Unfortunately, the sense of excitement in the air was suddenly interrupted as the front door burst open.
Another young man I instantly recognized came tromping across the room, his eyes fixed on the friendly duo who had been so interested in the grand prize up for grabs in the drawing. “I knew you’d be here! Finally, I’ve found you,” he snapped, and not in an even remotely pleasant manner, at the two gentlemen.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said, apologizing to the cute family of six who was waiting to get checked in. Rushing over to the man who’d just walked in--a tall, lanky fellow with a dark receding hairline and angular pale face--I put up both hands to stop him. “Hold on, Jacob. I’m sorry, but you know the rules. You’ve been put on probation from the cafe. You can’t be here.”
Jacob Bigsby was known in town as a bit of a loose cannon. He was prone to temper tantrums and public outbursts. Most of all, he hated to lose.
“Not until I say what I’ve come to say,” he snapped, his bloodshot eyes growing wide and wild.
I glanced from Jacob to the other two men. Ryan’s face had gone as white as a dinner plate, and I worried he might pass out. I knew he had blood sugar issues and always needed snacks--which he bought in copious amounts from us.
Nathaniel on the other hand just looked confident, smug even. He wasn’t afraid of this firecracker of a customer at all.
“If you don’t leave now, you’ll force me to call the police,” I reminded him of the stipulations of his probation from the cafe.
“You need to ban this fool,” he screamed, drawing more attention and scaring some of the patrons. He was pointing at Nathaniel.
“Why don’t you listen to Adrian and get out of here before things get worse for you?” he asked, keeping his cool.
“Oh, you’d love that, huh? You’d love for me to just stay quiet about how you’re a cheater.”
Nate’s serene smile dissolved into irritation. “A cheater? I’ve never cheated on anything in my life.”
“Oh, yeah? What about at the tournament?” he accused as if he expected that to suddenly make Nathaniel confess a slew of hidden sins.
“Tournament?” I questioned.
“I believe he was talking about the chess tournament at the civic center last week,” Nate responded.
So, maybe Nate really was a professional chess player, or at least good enough to compete.
I knew better than to readily believe Jacob’s accusation without any sort of proof. He was an incredibly sore loser. He even insisted on placing bets on his own games--and if he was playing in tournaments, that meant he was paying the cost to get in.
For a person like him, it was like a gambling addiction.
He’d even come and played the occasional game at Coven Coffee, but when he’d lost his last game of chess to a teenager, he threw the table.
That was what had gotten him put on probation with the cafe. He was temporarily banned from the shop for a month. He could come back after that, but another outburst would earn him a permanent ban.
In that instance as well, he’d accused his opponent of cheating.
“I didn’t cheat at that tournament. That’s how you get banned,” Nathaniel retorted, nodding toward me. It was a silent snub pointing out that Jacob was, technically, banned from the shop and was about to be slapped with a permanent ban.
“You cheated. I spent hundreds of hours practicing, learning every move. I was unbeatable.”
“Clearly not,” Nathaniel boasted.
At that comment, Jacob flew into a fury. His face changed from pale to deep crimson, and he lunged at Nathaniel like a wild dog with rabies. “You cheated me out of that prize money,” he screamed. “It was mine, rightfully mine.”
Before I realized what I was doing, I’d thrown up a hand toward him. Never touching the young man, he tumbled backward, landing on his butt hard on the tile floor. It was a gut instinct--a defense mechanism.
I had used my magic in a public space--another no-no according to the Witch’s Reed.
However, Reed or no Reed, I had a right to defend my space and my customers.
Thankfully, everyone assumed he’d just fallen over on his own.
I didn’t think it was possible, but he turned redder than ever before. The whole shop was quiet, staring at him. Clumsily getting to his feet, he waved one long bony finger at Nathaniel. “You’re going to regret this. I swear you’re going to pay.” His bloodshot eyes also fell on me. “And don’t think you’ll get away with this, backing up a cheater. I’ll make sure your stupid little family-friendly cafe gets shut down for good.” Turning around, he dashed from the store.
The entire place was left in a deep stupor of silence after what had just transpired.
Letting out a deep sigh, I held up both hands for everyone’s attention. “My apologies. Please, go back to enjoying your drinks and books.”
“Sorry about that, Adrian,” Nathaniel said, stepping close to me and whispering.
“It’s quite alright, Nate. It was nothing you did. Thankfully, I didn’t have to call the police. I’d hate to have to get them involved with anything here at the shop.”
“Thankfully, that didn’t happen,” he agreed with a smile.
Chapter Four
“Well, that was insane,” Dahlia, my chief barista and assistant manager noted quietly over my shoulder while I worked on helping to catch up the drink orders that had lined up while I’d been busy averting a crisis. She was wearing a well-fitted tight black t-shirt with the shop’s logo--Tamsin. The shirt sleeves were tight and showed off her extremely defined arm muscles.
“Yeah, let’s just hope the rest of today’s event is smooth sailing,” I said to her, turning the handle on the grinder and producing a fresh, fine-grind into the scoop for the espresso machine. Attaching it, I turned it on, and the water began to bubble inside. I placed the mug underneath the spout to catch the deliciously dark liquid as it filtered out.
“Don’t you worry. If that scrawny troublemaker comes back, Charline and I can handle him,” Dahlia bragged, making a punching motion with a fist into her hand. As she did it, a strand of black hair fell against her cheek. She wore a yellow headband, one of many different styles she owned, to keep her hair pulled back during service hours--but occasionally one or two inevitably creeped out the sides over her cheeks. I suppose that was the tri
al of having long curly hair. She quickly brushed it back. “Charline doesn’t take crap from anyone.”
Charline was Dahlia’s partner who also worked for me, but as a library and inventory manager. It was her job to find local coffee roasters to use in the cafe. While I obviously was the ultimate voice in deciding what we used and what we didn’t, Charline helped take a load off my shoulders by doing much of the initial networking for me.
Coffee beans aside, the more substantial part of her job was making sure the free book library was always stocked--and she had a lot to choose from in our overflowing boxes of donations in the basement. Mostly, she spent her days going through the stock to see which books were in good condition and which needed to be recycled. She was a whizz when it came to literary knowledge and knew which books were more popular and should get put out on the cafe shelves.
Since we were mainly a coffee shop, we had limited shelf space. Having two tiers of shelving beneath each window was a good amount of room, but it couldn’t hold every book imaginable.
My instructions to her were to focus on children's books, teen reads, and mysteries.
“I’m sure you two could take him,” I agreed with a grateful smile, returning my thoughts to the conversation at hand. “You girls work out enough,” I joked with her, turning on the air nozzle on the cappuccino machine to whip up the milk until it was foaming. I set it aside.
Dahlia held up one arm, flexing her already taut muscles. “Every morning,” she boasted.
In addition to their work for me, Dahlia and Charline taught an early morning yoga class at the community center in town. However, from what I could tell, it wasn’t your usual yoga. It was some sort of hard-hitting hybrid meant to tone your muscles.
They had a crew of dedicated women who came in every day for the class.
Dahlia had tried to convince me to come on many occasions, but I always passed on the opportunity. I hated working out in front of other people. I was just too self-conscious about it. Of course, it is all too easy, as a warlock, to just cast a glamor spell to make myself look fit and trim.
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