The anti-aging thing was also a big boon.
“Anyway, even if you guys could take him, I wouldn’t want you messing with him.” I picked up our pre-made chocolate syrup, the unique recipe made from Mexican chocolate with a dash of cayenne and chipotle in it for spice. I poured it over the coffee and stirred the two together.
“Afraid we’d hurt him?” she laughed. “Or is it just because we’re girls?”
I paused and looked at her sideways. “You know that isn’t the case.”
“Then?”
“No, it’s the other way around.”
“You’re kidding,” she said, his eyebrows raising. “You think he’d hurt us?”
“I wish I was kidding,” I admitted, carefully pouring the frothy milk over the mocha. I moved it around as it entered the mug, creating a white shape on top of the liquid. Grabbing a toothpick, I finished shaping the foam until it looked like a skull’s grinning face. “Coffee for Gabi,” I called, setting it on the counter.
“Does this kid have a record or something?” my barista asked after the customer had grabbed their drink.
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact. Last month Jacob punched some young eighteen-year-old guy after the kid beat him at chess.”
“Here?” she gasped. “I thought he just threw the table.”
“No, no, this was a different time--at the comics shop on Leavenworth. The one that donated that valuable comic book for the giveaway. They hold game nights every Friday.” I shrugged as I wiped down the counter. “Anyway, the kid’s father is an attorney and pressed charges. So, he’s in hot water after that.” I shook my head, turning to Dahlia and throwing the towel over my shoulder while putting a hand on my hip. “He even asked if I wanted to press charges for his outburst here at the shop, just to sort of act as a clincher in the case.”
“Did you agree?”
I shook my head. “I’m way too busy to deal with legal stuff. It wasn’t like he broke the table he threw. He just scared everyone, especially the young man he was playing against.” I sighed. “Jacob is a loose cannon. The incidents here at Coven and the one at the comic shop aren’t the only ones. I heard he has caused public disturbances all over town.” I paused. “Never know what he might try and pull next.”
“How do you know all this?” she wondered.
“I heard it from Becca, of course,” I reminded her of my girlfriend who was on the force.
“Ah, yes. A view into all of the city’s dirtiest gossip.”
I rolled my eyes at this comment. “Becca doesn’t gossip about police business. Just, when she’s had a hard day, she likes to unload and tell me what’s going on. She doesn’t use people’s names, but I can usually guess.”
“He’s not a bad guy, you know?” a voice chimed in.
Both Dahlia and I turned to look at Ryan who stood near the counter, one finger in the air as if timidly raising his hand in a classroom.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I said, he really isn’t a bad guy, just a little misunderstood, is all.”
We both continued to stare.
“Jacob, I mean,” he clarified.
“Really?” Dahlia wondered skeptically.
“He just worries about looking bad in front of people, and is specifically concerned about the stereotype of living with his mom at the age of thirty.” He gave a timid shrug.
“He lives with his mom?” Dahlia asked, clearly not surprised.
“Only after what happened. With court costs and charges against him, he can’t afford to pay rent any longer. He’s stuck living with his mom for a while at least.”
“Did you want to order something?” I asked, assuming Ryan had a different reason for coming up to the counter besides inserting himself in our conversation. I also didn’t feel comfortable gossiping with customers.
“Yes, one of those cinnamon donuts please.”
“Coming right up,” I announced, going over to the glass display dome and retrieving the pastry. He quickly paid and was on his way.
“Maybe if he didn’t gamble on every game of chess that he played he wouldn’t have to worry about rent,” Dahlia jabbed, shaking her head.
“Anyway, I’m going to check in the back to see how Charline is doing sorting donations that have come in,” I told her. “With people getting tickets for every book they bring in; I’m worried she’s drowning.”
“You got it, boss.”
Chapter Five
“Okay, and now the moment so many of you have been waiting for!” I called, waving a hand over the crowd in the cafe’s main room. Many eager faces looked up at me, most of them children, grasping their tickets in hand.
I was crossing my own fingers that a kid would win that comic book. They would love and appreciate it way more than some collector who would shove it in a box or display and just leave it there.
But what did I know? I wasn’t into collecting comics or anything. I was a book man, myself.
So far, many of the prizes had gone to kids. I loved seeing them win because they were so grateful, even if it was something as small as a coupon for a free drink. One little seven-year-old won the percolator, much to the excitement of his father.
I had laughed out loud at that one.
Digging my hand into the enormous clear plastic fish bowl we’d used to house the red tickets for the drawing, I pulled one out. “And the winning number for the grand prize is zero-zero-zero-six-six-six,” I called out in my best showmanship voice.
There were many disappointed groans from the crowd, but also one shout of excitement. “That’s me!”
Glancing in the direction of the voice, I was sure it was Ryan who had called out. However, a second later, I saw that it was actually Nathaniel who was making his way to the front of the crowd.
He handed me his ticket, and I checked the numbers. “Yes, sir. That is the winner,” I agreed.
“You won!” I heard Ryan practically scream at the top of his lungs. “I can’t believe it, but you won!” He was instantly right next to his best friend, smacking him hard on the back.
“I know, I know,” Nate said, smiling so widely I thought his face might break.
“I can’t believe it,” Ryan continued to gush. “And you said you’d give it to me.” He threw his hands up and was jumping up and down.
“Hold on, hold on. I said I might, but I didn’t expect to actually win.”
The pudgy young man’s celebration quickly ceased. “Huh?”
“I mean, that comic is worth a lot of money potentially,” he said.
“B-But you said.”
Nate placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know, I know, but I didn’t think I’d win. You understand?”
“No,” he said, his eyes glistening.
I chewed my lower lip as the surrounding customers and I watched the scene. I sent out a silent plea to the magic realm that they wouldn’t make a scene, that they could discuss this as friends outside.
Unfortunately, I knew that was too good to be true.
“Ryan, I need that money. You know that as much as anyone. Isn’t that why you’re always offering to buy me drinks? So I can save cash?”
Ryan looked down, struggling to keep the tears from falling from his eyes and down his face.
My jaw dropped open. I hadn’t known this fact about Nathaniel. Was he having money troubles?
As a warlock, one of my personal abilities was that I could touch people and get a read on their emotions, but I rarely did so with my customers out of respect for them and their privacy. Still, on occasion, someone was feeling such intense emotions that I could just sense it standing nearby. Sometimes, reading people got annoying.
However, something like this would be one thing I hoped I could read. I would have been infusing Nate’s drinks with a little magical energy to draw new money toward him.
But with winning the comic and all, it looked like he might not need my magic--just plain old mortal luck.
“I guess,” Ryan fi
nally mumbled.
“Thanks, bud,” Nate returned, patting him on the shoulder before turning toward me. “Is it okay if I come and pick it up when you guys close tonight? I want to make sure it’s safe here with you until I’m ready to take it home.”
“Uh, sure,” I reluctantly agreed, glancing over at Ryan just in time to see him sulk out of the shop and disappear.
Chapter Six
“Maybe I should have fixed the drawing,” I said, staring into the bottom of my dark cup of black coffee. It was a unique soothing blend I made myself--something I infused with a pinch of ritual cinnamon. In fact, most every coffee drink I served held some sort of magical property.
After all, I had been top of my class at the Witch’s Academy of the Dark Arts for potion blending (and poison blending for that matter). I simply applied it to my everyday work, giving my customers small boons to help them day-to-day.
“What for?” Tamsin asked, sitting on the windowsill near me.
We were at the corner table with the comic book in the glass display case. Tamsin’s tail hung over the edge of the bookshelf, wagging in front of a few mystery titles.
“I don’t know. It would have been an easy fix. Just cast a drawing spell on the ticket I wanted to win. When I stuck my hand in, that ticket would have been drawn to my hand. Easy peasy.”
“Aren’t you happy that mortal won? He’s going to use it to help his mother.”
I took another long sip of my coffee. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. A text from Becca. Picking it up, I quickly told her I would only be another few minutes. We could meet for drinks and maybe a late dinner after that. I declined to say how I’d forgotten to ask Dahlia to stay behind and cover for me at closing in all the excitement of the day.
“I’m glad Nate won, but I’m also sad Ryan lost. He was so attached to winning that comic book.” I motioned toward the case.
“Seems odd to me, fretting over a few pieces of paper stapled together,” Tamsin pointed out.
“I guess for some people, it’s important. Ryan must be a collector or something.”
“It would seem so,” Tamsin agreed.
“And if Ryan had won, he would have been so happy.”
“What about that other boy?” Tamsin wondered.
“Well, Nate comes in a lot. I could have given him drinks with money magic infused into the coffee beans.”
Tamsin stood up and looked me directly in the eye. “It isn’t good to use magic to meddle in mortal affairs. Someone always ends up getting hurt in one way or another.”
“I know that, Tamsin. Aunt Theo forced me to recite the Witch’s Reed every day growing up.”
“Witch’s Reed or not, it’s simply too complicated to get mixed up with mortals.” He shook his head. “With them, there never is a clear answer. They’re fragile creatures.”
“Hey, I’m dating a mortal, you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I’m telling you this. And I just want to make sure you’re aware that she can get sick, get hurt, even die.”
“I know,” I snapped.
“The chances of that happening to you as a warlock are so slim.”
“I know.”
The cat sighed, shaking his head and looking down. “The longer you keep this relationship going, the harder it will be in the future when you break it off. And you will need to break it off at some point. It’s inevitable.”
I bit my lower lip hard, struggling to come up with a good argument--any argument when there was a knock on the door. “That’ll be Nate,” I said, jumping up from my seat.
Tamsin let out an audible sigh, jumping down and trotting through the back door toward home.
“Hi, Nate. Come on in,” I said as I opened the door wide for him to step in.
“Thanks, Adrian. I’m sorry to ask you to see me this late, but I just didn’t want to risk losing or damaging it. That money will mean a lot for my mother.”
“I know it will,” I agreed, walking over to the comic. Opening the front panel on the case, I took the comic out. “Here it is.”
“Thanks a million,” he said, reaching out for it. However, as his fingers grabbed the prize, they brushed mine.
He froze in place, and I instantly knew something was wrong.
A wave of both confusion and fear ran through me, reading his emotions.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, but before I had barely gotten the sentence out, I saw where his eyes were looking. They weren’t on me. They were looking past my head to something behind me.
I quickly turned to face whoever it was who was standing there but didn’t get a chance to see.
Before I could focus, something heavy and dull connected with my temple.
A flash of lightning struck through my vision--annihilating my senses.
Then everything went black as I hit the floor.
Chapter Seven
Fear and worry pulsed through my veins, into my very core. I could sense it traveling up my arm and straight into my heart. Blinking my eyes open, I strained to remember what had happened. The outline of something . . . Someone. . . Materialized in the bright lights above me.
Long blonde hair, all wrapped up in a knot. A gentle face. Eyes that sparkled through the haze.
Things finally adjusted and I realized why I was feeling so afraid. Becca was holding my hand, and she was worrying that I was seriously injured.
“Where am I?” I whispered, trying to sit up.
“No, no, don’t sit up,” Becca ordered, placing a hand on my chest and pushing me back down.
“You have a concussion young man,” a gentleman with a carefully cut white beard and a full head of silver hair said, stepping out from behind my girlfriend.
In an instant, I realized I was in the hospital.
“You’re in the ER,” Becca said. She was still dressed in her uniform, badge and everything. “You were hit over the head pretty hard.”
Reaching up, my fingers brushed the bandages around my head. I strained to remember. “Hit over the head?”
Just then, the curtain around my bed was pulled back revealing a burly older man. He had a lumberjack style beard, a shiny bald head, and wore a long black raincoat with the collar pulled up. A detective’s badge hung limply from the lapel.
“Is he cognitive enough to answer a few questions?” he asked.
“I’ll need to check a few things out first, but then yes. The patient should be able to answer your questions, Detective,” he said, as he stepped over to the bed and pulled out his flashlight to check the dilation of my pupils.
“Sir, can I can request that we hold off on questioning until at least tomorrow?” Becca asked, facing her superior officer.
“Officer Baker, this is a murder investigation.”
“Murder?” I gasped, trying to sit up again.
“Mr. Eliphas, please stay still,” the doctor ordered, a hand on my shoulder. “I still need to check a few more things.”
The detective, who I could only assume was Donald Miner, continued talking to Becca while the doctor went about his work, “You, as a training member of the homicide division, should know that the earlier we can ask questions, the better.”
Becca stood up straight as a rod. “You’re absolutely right, sir. May I request that I do the questioning?”
I didn’t care for the furrowed brow on the detective’s face. “Out of the question, officer.”
My girlfriend’s lips tightened, remaining silent. It was clear she expected this response. However, that didn’t keep her from trying to argue her point. “Sir, the Chief requested that I work through the next homicide case with you. This is my assignment as much as it is yours.” She motioned to me in the bed.
“I’m sorry, Officer Baker. In this instance, I think it is the best interest of all involved that I take you off the case.”
“Sir.”
“Is this young man not your boyfriend?” he questioned, looking at me as the doctor finished up poking around to make sure
I didn’t have any permanent damage.
Becca visibly swallowed. “Yes, sir, he is.”
“And how long have you been dating?”
“Two years, sir,” she practically whispered.
“There you go, then. That settles it.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what am I supposed to work on in the meantime?” she demanded to know.
I had the same thought in my own mind. Would the fact that I was somehow involved in a murder case, of which I still had little to no knowledge of, push her ability to become a full-fledged detective back?
The tall gruff man folded his arms. “All right, why don’t we compromise? If any element of this case comes up that doesn’t involve your personal interests,” he motioned to me again, “I’ll let you handle those. For now, however, I want you at your desk until further notice. I may need you at home base in the instance that I need someone to look up records or process paperwork for me.”
So that was the only way he intended to let her help on the case? Desk work?
Becca was quiet. I could tell she was unhappy about this arrangement.
“Is that understood, officer?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed. Turning to me, she gave me a quick kiss on the head. “I’ll see you later. Call me as soon as you are released.” With that, she turned and disappeared from the ER.
Chapter Eight
“I’m keeping you overnight for observation, but you should be good to leave by morning,” the doctor noted to me as he finished up. “One of the orderlies will be over to transport you to a room for the night.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling unsure about the current situation. I had no desire to stick around in a hospital bed all night long. After all, if I were indeed injured, I would be better off heading back home and mixing up a healing tincture than sitting around here. As a Warlock, our immune systems didn’t work quite the same way as mortals. While we could still get sick and hurt, we had a habit of jumping back more quickly. Using magic or potions also helped to speed the process along.
Strange Brew Page 3