Chapter 6 #3
She hadn’t acted the least bit aggressive toward either himself or Sariel, so he figured he probably didn’t have too much to worry about as long as he kept her happy and fed.
The way she was so insistent about being held struck Seymour as a creature who was lonely and desperate to connect.
He had so many questions for her—about the missing head, those rebel monsters, his father.
And his father’s murder.
Who had killed him? Why? Was it really for the head or something else?
Was there some sort of monster police they could report it to?
Seymour had no idea, but one problem at a time.
First, he needed some damn coffee.
It was Seymour’s turn at the counter, and he’d been so absorbed in his mental monster mash that he hadn’t even looked at the menu. He felt like an ass, muttering, “Uh, just one sec.”
The cashier smiled politely. “No problem, sir.”
“Right, so…”
Behind him, a Black woman with long gray locs and a green leather vest sighed. There was a deathly pale man standing next to her, dressed like he’d fallen off the set of Sleepy Hollow, other than the tiny round purple sunglasses he had on.
He also sighed.
A lot.
And loudly.
“For the love of God, it’s coffee.” The man hissed noisily. “Why can’t he just pick something? Does it really matter?”
“Someone’s cranky,” the woman said with a smirk. “Woke up on the wrong side of the coffin?”
“I hate being awake this early.”
Seymour’s brain locked up for a moment because although he wasn’t entirely sure of the time, it had to be late afternoon, if not almost evening, by now.
Also, knowing now that monsters were real, that crack about a coffin made his skin crawl.
He cleared his throat, saying to the cashier, “Uh, could I please just have the biggest, strongest coffee ya’ got? All the espresso, all that.”
Day poked Seymour’s face.
“Oh! And a small cup of milk.”
Day poked him again.
“Uh, sorry, mediu—”
Day hissed.
“Large. Large milk, please.”
Day settled back down, purring.
The cashier rang him up, and Seymour quickly stepped out of the way so the people behind him could have their turn. He gave Day a small rub as inconspicuously as possible, whispering, “Just a minute, okay? And then you’ll have your milk.”
Day meowed, giving Seymour another nudge on his cheek.
“What?”
Day pushed more firmly.
Seymour realized then she was trying to get him to look back at the counter.
The woman was busy ordering something called a Dragon’s Blast, but the man was staring at Seymour intently over the rims of his sunglasses.
Seymour froze, as he realized he appeared mentally unwell under such scrutiny.
He decided to find the counter especially fascinating, his pulse thudding hard enough to make his chest tremble.
He couldn’t explain it, but he was pretty sure this was what gazelles felt like when there were lions around.
The man had zero problem with getting right in Seymour’s space, asking ever so sweetly, “Are you all right, sir?”
“Uh, fine. Just, mmhmm, fine.” Seymour kept staring off at nothing.
“Let’s try this again.” The man grabbed Seymour’s shoulder.
“Hey! What—” Seymour tried to push away, but the man’s grip was impossibly strong.
The man’s eyes were bright, so very bright, like stars, and now Seymour couldn’t look anywhere else. He didn’t even want to. Staring into those gorgeous, glimmering eyes consumed his thoughts, and he even found himself smiling.
Huh.
This was nice…
Distantly, Seymour was aware of Day hissing and trying to get out of his arms. That would probably be bad, very bad, but it was very difficult to care in that moment.
“Dagobert,” Sariel’s voice barked.
Seymour blinked rapidly, teetering as he broke out of whatever strange spell the man had cast on him. He shifted his grip on Day, and he leaned into Sariel’s arms wrapped firmly around him.
“Sariel?” Dagobert, the man, made a face. “Friend of yours?”
“Yes,” Sariel said shortly, his eyes narrowed.
“Ugh, fine.” Dagobert grumbled. “It’s far too early for this nonsense anyway.”
“Hey, what the fuck did you just try to do to me?” Seymour snapped. “What was that?”
Dagobert grinned. He had fangs. “Be very thankful for your little guardian angel.”
“Huh?”
“Seymour!” a young man behind the counter called out.
“Go get your coffee,” Sariel said, his eyes not moving from Dagobert.
Seymour numbly headed to the pickup area, trying to listen to whatever it was happening just behind him.
How the fuck did that goth weirdo know about Sariel?
Oh, right, probably because he was an actual vampire.
“Boys, boys!” The woman who had been with Dagobert now approached them. “Let’s play nice, hmm?” She gave Sariel a warm smile. “I’m sure Sariel is very busy and needs to get back to whatever it is he’s doin’. Right?”
“Thank you, Miss Moore,” Sariel replied politely.
Seymour had to push Day up on his shoulder to perch so he could use both hands to grab the milk and coffee. He stomped back over to the group, scowling. “I ain’t thankin’ nobody for shit! Not until I get some—”
Sariel put his hand over Seymour’s mouth. “Thank you again. If you’ll excuse us.”
Seymour grumbled in protest, but his hands were full and he couldn’t twist away with Sariel’s other arm around his waist. He normally liked when Sariel got bossy, but now he was irritated.
He struggled all the way back upstairs to their table until Sariel finally released him. “Hey! What the fuck was that?”
“It was for your safety,” Sariel replied, frowning. “I am sorry for not explaining the danger, but it seemed more important to first remove you from it.”
Seymour slammed the drinks on the table. “Danger? From Hot Topic and leather lady?”
Sariel sighed. “I do not understand what you are saying.”
Day leapt from Seymour’s shoulder and landed on the table, snatching up the cup of milk. She turned it up and greedily chugged. She made little growling sounds that curiously sounded like nom, nom, nom.
“Who were they?” Seymour paused. “What were they?”
“Dagobert is the oldest vampire in the city—”
“Wait, seriously? I was just thinkin’ that.”
“And Miss Moore is a dragon.”
“A dragon.” Seymour took a deep breath. “A dragon and a vampire were getting coffee.”
“No, only the dragon.”
“Fuck me runnin’.”
Day pawed at Seymour’s arm.
“What? More milk, lil’ girl?” Seymour turned to see Day had nabbed a handful of napkins and what suspiciously looked like the exact same permanent marker the staff had used to write his name on the cups.
Day pointed at the napkins and meowed.
“Oh! You were drawing.” Seymour tilted his head. “Aw, it’s a lil’ house! That’s so cute, lil’ girl.” He turned his head back the other way. “What’s, uh… What’s with the chicken legs comin’ out the bottom?”
“Oh!” Sariel gasped.
“You ever seen anything like this?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.”