4. Cal
CHAPTER 4
CAL
The next morning I woke up in a great mood. I hadn’t had a scary vision, it was Friday, and Steve and I had a plan for our separation from Rogues Gallery. The anticipation of figuring out what our new product would be and how to design it was enough to drown out my low-key worry about whether I wanted to let Delphia help me level-up my psychic abilities or not.
Deciding to treat myself to a bear claw, I blasted “Even the Nights Are Better” on my phone as I drove to Pour Some Sugar on Me. The radio in my 1999 Ford F-250 pickup hadn’t worked in over a decade, but since I had music on my phone it didn’t bother me. Every so often Steve and Felix tried to get me to buy a new truck, but the thought of spending that much money when I didn’t need to made me jittery. No, this truck might have stained upholstery, its paint job might be lumpy from my rust spot repairs, and it might spend several days a year in the shop, but it was paid for.
I parked at the bakery and turned off my music. Getting out of the truck, I locked it and tucked my phone in my pocket with the keys .
I walked up to the door of the bakery at exactly the same time as another man coming from the opposite direction. I turned, already extending my hand in a gesture for him to go first, but he was closer than I expected.
He was gorgeous, almost as tall as me, but slender, with dark reddish hair and beard scruff. His eyes were a tawny brown, almost golden, and when he gazed at me, I’d swear those eyes stabbed into mine, freezing me on the spot.
He reached out and gently took my outstretched hand in his. “I’m Simon.” He stared into my eyes for another moment, then looked away, shaking his head regretfully. “You’re meant for another,” he said as he released my hand.
He spun on his heel, his jacket billowing out slightly, and walked swiftly back to the parking lot.
I stared after him until the coffee shop door opened as a customer exited. How long had I been standing here? That guy had acted strangely. Had it been some kind of prank?
I scanned the parking lot, but I didn’t see any of my high school bullies filming me from the bushes as one of them pretended to secretly want to date me.
Though what would be the point of the hand-holding if it wasn’t a prank? I examined my palm and the back of my hand. I couldn’t see anything, but thinking about high school bullies gave me an overwhelming urge to wash my hands. I rushed into the coffee shop, bypassing the line of people waiting to order and heading for the restrooms.
The smell of coffee and cinnamon made my stomach growl. I definitely needed a bear claw today. I went inside one of the unisex bathrooms, locked the door behind me, and paused.
I didn’t have to use the restroom. Why had I come in here? Oh, right. I wanted to wash my hands because they felt dirty. I’d touched something. I had alcohol wipes in my car, so it must’ve happened between the car and the bakery.
I shook my head. I probably needed a few days off work. All the stress of leaving Rogues Gallery, my visions, and figuring out what Steve and my new company might do was getting to me. I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. At least I hadn’t let my mind wander that badly while I’d been driving.
I rolled up the sleeves of the blue button-down I’d thrown over my black “Everything Is Under CTRL” t-shirt and scrubbed my hands and wrists with soap for the CDC-recommended twenty seconds. I smiled to myself, remembering Steve’s mom prodding me to wash my hands before eating.
I was still enjoying my upbeat mood as I left the restroom. A caffeine and sugar boost would make my day even brighter.
I got in line and enjoyed the wonderful smells in the coffee shop until it was my turn to order my mocha latte and bear claw.
After I paid, I moved down to the end of the counter to wait. I leaned against a support beam and idly gazed at the customers who were still in line or ordering. My eyes bugged out a little when I saw Butch, my high school bully. Was he still living in Bent Oak? I scoffed. Of course he was. His parents were rich. No way would he leave their sphere of influence.
Something about Butch was striking a chord in the back of my brain. Had I been thinking about him recently? Shit, my mind really was turning to mush. I needed to take some days off and soon.
My gaze landed on the guy who’d been a couple people behind me in line, and I froze. He was much bigger than me, maybe as tall as six foot six or so. He was broad in the shoulders and the belly, kind of like I was but more muscular. He had black hair and a bushy beard, and he grinned at the barista as he thanked her.
But none of that was what had me gasping for air.
No, I could see the guy’s alter ego, what Delphia had called his second self. And it was a bear.
A real bear.
It was taller than the guy by at least another foot, covered in fur and with claws on its enormous paws. Its head turned from side to side, nose twitching as if it was seeking the source of a smell.
When I’d seen the puppy and kitty play people, they hadn’t thought of their alternate identities as real animals. I could clearly see their masks and hoods, as well as their hand coverings and tails. Plus, those second selves had appeared as sort of holograms that didn’t move.
This bear moved. And it was a lot more solid-looking than the alter egos of the drag queens or the puppy play people.
“Cal!” someone shouted from my right. I jumped and made a shrieking noise.
The barista cocked her head at me. “Sorry,” she said, sliding my coffee cup across the counter. “Here’s your bear claw.” She pushed a white paper bag toward me.
“Bear,” I said, staring at her blankly. I jerked my head around again and stared up at the bear, which was now staring back, its bright eyes wide as they met mine. “Bear,” I repeated. “Holy shit.”
“Uh, hi?”
I snapped my eyes down from the extremely tall bear to the just really tall human-looking guy who was the bear’s other self. First self? Who the fuck knew.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“Oh, fuck, yeah, Cow! It is you!”
A hand grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around.
I blinked. “Butch.” I shook my head. I didn’t have time for him. I turned back to the bear-guy.
Butch grabbed me again. “I’m talking to you, Cow.”
I shrugged him off impatiently. “Not now.”
Bear-guy squinted at Butch. “This guy bothering you?”
“Taylor!” the barista shouted. Bear-guy stuffed a couple of dollars in the tip jar and took his extra-large to-go cup from her.
“Oooh, is this your type, Cow? I bet you like the bigger ones, so you can be their little bitch.”
I ignored him. I had bigger things to be concerned about.
Like the fucking bear-man right in front of me.
The bear—Taylor, apparently—grabbed my cup off the counter, glanced at the name on it, and handed it to me. Then he passed me the white bag with my pastry in it. I took them both without thinking, still unable to look away from the guy and his bear-self.
He said to Butch, “You’re mispronouncing his name. It’s Cal. And I don’t like your tone.” He stepped forward, getting between me and Butch. I turned so I could continue to stare at the bear.
“Brantleigh the Fourth!” shouted the barista .
This distracted me enough that I glanced over at her. She had a slightly bemused expression on her face. Butch’s hand reached out from the other side of Taylor, and he grabbed the cup.
I snorted. I’d forgotten Butch had such a pretentious real name.
Cup in hand, he edged around Taylor, who spun to keep himself between Butch and me. “See you around, Cow!” he sang out before speeding through the exit doors.
“What an ass,” Taylor said.
“You’re telling me.” I slammed my mouth shut. What the hell was I supposed to say to the bear-guy? “Um....”
He clapped a gigantic hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got to get to work, but I’ll be seeing you around, Cal.” He paused, then said, “I hope you pick my DM. He’s the best.”
“DM?” I asked faintly as Taylor moved past me to walk out of the coffee shop. He didn’t look back.
The bear-man played Dungeons I hadn’t been that out of it—inside.
Because Taylor was a fucking bear-man!
Werebear, like a werewolf? Werewolves must be real too, right? What about weresquirrels and werefish?
But wait, did he change into his bear, or was the bear like an animal mentor or sacred animal? Taylor could be of indigenous descent. Oddly, the thought of the bear being an ethereal being was more reassuring than imagining Taylor running through the woods all furry.
Did Delphia Shaw know about bear-people? She’d said she could see people’s second selves, so she must have seen a bear person, right?
I shook my head as I parked in front of my apartment building. Maybe the whole encounter had been a dream.
No, the coffee and the bear claw—which I would never be able to order again—had been real. Butch, nightmarish though he was, had been real.
Taylor and his bear-self had been real.
Fuck.
I spent my evening unable to concentrate, googling bear people—or bear shifters as they were called in romance novels—and going back and forth on whether to ask Delphia Shaw exactly what kind of second selves she’d seen.
Around 11pm I gave up. I’d do more research over the weekend. The bear people weren’t going anywhere.
Knowing I’d have a hard time dropping off to sleep, I dug out the bottle of tequila Steve had brought over a few years ago and poured myself a couple of shots before going to bed. That’d relax me. I just hoped I wouldn’t have a vision about bears.