Chapter 5
The bell rings, and I swear it’s louder and more dramatic than usual. When I turn around, I’m not surprised to see the woman with the aqua eyes and the matching streaks in her hair.
“Let me guess—you want a Wild Eye, hot,” I say, in the most pleasant tone I can manage. I still sound a bit gruff, but the woman looks surprised and faintly pleased, like she expected a rougher reception.
“Yes,” she says.
“Coming right up.”
“Lou used to make me a combo sometimes,” she ventures. “Anger with a shot of sadness. Can you do something like that?”
“First you wanna be mad, now you wanna cry, too?” I raise an eyebrow.
“And you want it all in one drink? You’re a difficult customer, you know that?
” I let the corner of my mouth twitch up so she’ll know I don’t mean it in a bad way.
I’m already assembling the ingredients, lining them up on the counter like an expert mixologist.
Her face relaxes, and she smiles.
When she smiles, her eyes turn into sparkling half-suns, with lashes like rays of pure joy. For a second I forget what I’m doing. My hands freeze where they are, and I can’t move.
Her smile falters. “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat and keep working. “Wanna tell me why you need to be sad and mad?”
“We’re bordering on Dr. Seuss territory here,” she quips. “I have to be mad, so I will not be bad, and when I am sad, I do not get so mad. I used to love that stupid tongue-twister book of his—”
“Fox in Socks.”
“Yes! I found a copy in a thrift store and I kept it in my treasure spot so my mother wouldn’t…” Her voice fades and a haunted bitterness creeps into her eyes. “Never mind.”
I drizzle flavoring into the coffee, then pass my hand over it twice, once clockwise, and once counterclockwise. I take a few grains of pink sea salt in my palm and hold them up to my lips, letting my breath warm them. Then I sprinkle them into the mug.
“Nowhere but Crescent Cove would it be okay to breathe on someone else’s drink ingredients,” says the woman.
“True.” I grab the little tin of chili pepper and shake out a few flakes. “I didn’t get a name for your order.”
“Marlowe,” she replies.
“Marlowe.” I like the warmth of her name and the way it makes my tongue curl in my mouth. “I’m Rick. Short for Maverick.”
“Like Top Gun.”
“Yeah. My dad was a fan.”
“The new movie was even better than the old one,” she says.
“Nothing beats the classic, but it wasn’t bad.”
“Not bad?” She seats herself on a stool and plants both hands on the bar top, looking at me earnestly. “The new one moved along so much faster, the dialogue was better, the conflict was more intense, and everything was just more interesting. The old one was so slow.”
“And things need to be fast?”
“Yes.” She’s watching me carefully, grooves forming between her brows. “That’s not how Lou made it.”
“This will do the trick.”
“But it’s not the same.” She shifts restlessly on the stool, then stands up again. Like her body is possessed by a demon of perpetual motion. “I need it to be as close to the same as supernaturally possible. I thought you said you knew how Lou made these.”
“I do. This way is better.”
“Different is never better.”
“It can be, if you give it a chance.” I clasp my palm over the mug, then lift my hand slowly. A ball of orange fire flickers between the coffee’s surface and my cupped palm—only for a second. It doesn’t burn me, just stings a bit. It’s a sign that I’ve brewed a successful Wild Eye potion.
“Now for that shot of Tristesse.” I take the vial of siren’s tears from its cubby and squeeze two of them into the drink. A swirl of charmed cream, a few drops of honey, and it’s done.
Any human could put together the same ingredients I just used, but the end result would simply be an odd mixture with no special power.
The magic lies with the maker. Creating an emotive potion takes knowledge, a specific order of preparation, certain motions and quantities, and a strong measure of intent.
I press a lid onto the cup. “Your drink, Ms. Marlowe.”
“Just Marlowe. Marlowe Reilly.” She hands over cash for the coffee.
As I drop the change into her hand, I ask, “Do any kelpies live in Crescent Cove?”
Her fingers close around the coins. She sets down her cup and busies herself with putting the change into her wallet, then tucking the wallet into her bag. “Kelpies? Like the dogs?”
“No, the water horses. The flesh-eating kind.”
“No kelpies live in Crescent Cove. They’re much too dangerous to reside within the town limits.”
“How about nearby?”
“Why do you ask?”
I touch my chest where the beautiful black horse nuzzled and pierced it last night.
The flesh is seamless now, but I still feel the phantom pain of those white fangs and the puff of warm breath against my skin.
“I had an encounter with two of them. I’m going to ask the council about it tonight, at the meeting. ”
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to go making waves with the council, not when you’re so new in town. The last thing you need is to be labeled as a troublemaker.”
Ah yes, my old familiar title. She’s right—I don’t want to have that reputation here.
“Shouldn’t the council know about the kelpies, though?” I say. “They’re dangerous. They could kill someone. This close to Crescent Cove, any killings like that would bring unwanted attention to the town.”
“Where did you encounter them?” she asks.
“Fuller’s Pond.”
“That’s not too close. I’d just let it go. You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“I came close to not being alive.” I touch my chest again, and her eyes follow the motion.
The bell rings again, and a few locals enter the diner. As I greet them, I’m conscious of Marlowe leaving the bar and slipping outside into the sunshine.
The morning feels slightly more colorless with her gone.
Suddenly I realize that she never took a sip of the coffee.
“Hang on a second,” I tell my customers, and I rush out the door so fast the bell jangles furiously.
Marlowe is a dozen steps down the street, standing hesitantly beside a trash can. She takes the lid off the coffee cup, sniffs the contents, then shakes her head and reaches toward the trash can.
“Hey!” I yell.
She startles, caught in the act of throwing away the drink she just paid for.
“What are you doing?” My voice sounds rougher and meaner than I intend, but I’m honestly pissed off. “I made you a top-notch goddamn potion that’s not only effective but fucking delicious, and you’re just gonna throw it out? Really?”
She bites her lip. Her mouth is a plush cherry red, and her black hair shines like living midnight under the sun…
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I thinking in poetry right now?
I keep striding toward her. She stands her ground, grimacing like she’s upset at being caught. “Look, I don’t know you,” she says defensively. “I was going to try the coffee, but the way you made it was so different…”
“I told you it will do the same thing that Lou’s potions would have done.
It’ll make you cry and curse. You’ll want to hide in bed and beat someone up at the same time.
What I don’t understand is why you’d want to feel all that, why you’d willingly subject yourself to an avalanche of negative emotion on purpose.
And why, after I gave you what you asked for, would you throw it away without even tasting it? Do you think I’m trying to poison you?”
Her eyes narrow. “From the way you’re ranting, I’m starting to think that’s a distinct possibility. By any chance do you have a habit of typing ‘all work and no play makes Rick a dull boy’ for hours on end, when you’re not chasing people down the sidewalk?”
“Oh, so now I’m crazy? Crazy Rick from the Toast & Tide, trying to poison you.”
“If you want me to trust your freakish concoctions, you’re going about it in the worst possible way,” she snaps.
“Yeah? Tell you what. I’ll drink some too. Here.” I snatch the cup from her hand, toss the lid aside, and take a gulp. It’s way too hot. It scorches my tongue, but I swallow manfully.
“Oh gosh,” she exclaims, her eyes widening. “What did you—”
“Not enough? Okay.” I take a couple more burning swallows. “There. Now I’ll be weeping and swearing through my work day, and it’s all your fault. Thank you very much. Enjoy your drink.”
A few Crescent Cove residents have drifted closer, hovering within earshot, watching us argue. I shove the cup back into Marlowe’s hand, turn on my heel, and march back toward the diner.
“Show’s over!” I shout to the onlookers. “Go about your business! Be sure to tip your server!”
I slam back through the door of the Toast & Tide, greeting my guests with a ferocious grin and snarling, “Welcome! Let’s find you a table.”
The next few hours are a whirlwind. I have to keep stepping away from the bar, dodging into the kitchen to mop the tears coursing from my eyes, or rushing to the alley to punch a garbage can instead of venting my anger on the customers.
The lunch rush dies down around half past two, at which point I take the time to wipe down the bar top again.
Tae pokes his head out of the back. “Hey boss, don’t you have that appointment?”
“Appointment?”
“Yeah, it’s on the whiteboard back here in the kitchen. Therapy at two forty-five.”
“Crap, I forgot.”
“It’s cool, I got this. Honor is stopping in at three to help out for a couple hours.”
“Honor is sixteen and barely knows how to tie his apron. Keep an eye on him, you hear me?”
“Will do, boss.”
I finish up a few things, then leave the diner and head up the street.
Dr. Ellis’s office is a couple blocks away, and I cover the distance quickly.
Not that I’m looking forward to therapy, or rather, grief counseling.
I set up a couple appointments right after Lou passed.
Figured it was the adult thing to do when someone special leaves your life.