7. Chapter 7
Riley
The main street running through Afton, Wyoming looked like something out of a cowboy spaghetti western movie set, minus the highway running through town.
An enormous arch over the main street welcomed us to the home of the world’s largest elk horn arch, and boasted a population of just under two thousand.
American flags, weathered by wind and sun, fluttered from every light post.
Conall pointed ahead to an old sign advertising a feed store on our right. “The café is between the hardware store and the outfitters store.” Freda and Bennion took a day off from guarding me and stayed behind with the hellhounds.
The name of the restaurant sounded like some quaint country café with checkered tablecloths and homemade pies.
Instead, Emma’s was a squat cinderblock building with peeling paint and a flickering neon open sign in the window.
Dust-covered pickup trucks and vintage motorcycles filled the parking lot.
Gunnar glanced around. “This place is rough around the edges, but I bet the food’s good.”
I assessed the establishment, my sharpened senses making me aware of every detail. Three bikers watched us as they smoked by the entrance, and a truck full of construction workers walked past and climbed into an oversized work truck.
The cowbell jangled when Ash pushed open the glass door. The linoleum floor was worn thin in the high-traffic areas, and a few vinyl booths were patched with duct tape. The place smelled like hickory bacon and fresh coffee.
The café was about two-thirds full, mostly with men in work clothes. Conversation lulled as we entered, curious eyes taking us in before returning to their food.
“Not exactly what I was picturing,” I admitted, my voice low.
Conall walked past two clean tables and claimed a dirty booth near the back wall, giving us a clear view of both the entrance and the swinging doors that led to the kitchen.
A laminated menu stood wedged between a napkin dispenser and a sticky bottle of ketchup.
I ran my hand over the table to make sure there wasn’t any nasty residual energy, then slid into the booth.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” a server called in a raspy smoker’s voice as she refilled coffee. The woman was in her late sixties with unnaturally black hair, heavy eyeliner, and deep lines carved around her mouth.
She cleared our table and brought mugs over. “Coffee?” Her nametag read Donna.
The men nodded, but I held up a hand. “I’d like hot tea, please.”
She gave me a look. “You folks passing through?” She pulled a notepad from her apron pocket.
“Just here for breakfast,” Conall replied smoothly. “We heard the food was good.”
“It is.”
“I also have a few questions when you have time,” I added.
She stilled for a split second. Behind the counter, a man emerged from the kitchen carrying an enormous tray of breakfast platters.
He was built like a bulldozer. Short but solid, with massive forearms covered in dark hair and a thick neck.
His bald head gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his eyebrows were two thick slashes above deep-set eyes.
He wore a stained white apron over a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a faded tattoo that looked like bear claws.
“That’s Emmett,” Donna informed us. “He’s the owner and cook.”
The man deftly served food and headed back to the kitchen. “Emma’s Café is named after… Emmett?” I asked.
Donna’s mouth twitched. “Yep. What can I get you?”
As we ordered, I watched Emmett work. Even from across the room, I sensed his energy. Emmett was a bear shifter.
A few minutes later, Donna was the one who brought our plates heaped with eggs, bacon, and hash browns.
I stood and pointed to Emmett behind the counter, still cooking. “I’m going to go speak with—”
“Sit your ass down,” Donna rasped in her smoker’s voice. “You gotta eat first while the food is hot.”
“We’re in a hurry.” My voice sounded flat and emotionless.
She smirked. “Honey, nobody rushes Emmett. Not even hot women with weird hair and cold eyes.” She nodded at my plate. “Eat. You look like you need it.”
The coldness inside me calculated our options. We needed information, and antagonizing the waitstaff wouldn’t help.
I nodded and sat. “Alright.” Picking up my fork, I took a bite of the egg and hash brown. They’d both been cooked in bacon grease and seasoned with onion. The food was delicious, and I murmured in appreciation with my mouth full.
Donna nodded. “Best breakfast in three counties.”
Gunnar grunted in agreement as he dug into his huevos rancheros with a full trencher of bacon. The café buzzed with conversation as I ate and observed.
“How’s the food?” Emmett’s deep voice startled me. He’d approached our table silently despite his bulk.
“Excellent,” Conall replied, his posture subtly shifting to protective mode. “My mate and her partner would like to ask you a few questions when you have time.” He motioned to Gunnar and me.
Emmett crossed his thick arms over his chest, his amber eyes fixed on me. “How did a little Viber like you and a troll become partners?”
Viber was a slang term from before the Feds and Apollo Genetics standardized the term “Resonant.” It referred specifically to those who could read vibrations from objects and places. People like my father and me.
“How do you know what I am?”
“Same way I know you’re Eli’s kid. You got his energy signature and that white streak in your hair.” He gestured to the strand. “Both are a dead giveaway.”
Gunnar stared at Emmett. “How’d you know I’m a troll?”
Emmett raised an eyebrow. “Where do you want me to start?” The café grew quiet around us as people sensed the tension. The coldness inside me receded slightly, making room for something warm and urgent. My father’s name had come up twice now in a matter of days. It felt almost surreal.
I slowly stood. “Yes. I’m Riley Blackthorne. It’s nice to meet you, Emmett.”
Emmett’s lips curled up. “Nice to meet you too, Eli’s daughter. Finish your food, then we’ll talk.” He strode back to the kitchen.
When I sat back down, my appetite was gone. Gunnar didn’t suffer from the problem. He looked over at my half-eaten plate.
“You gonna finish that?”
I pushed the plate toward him as the bell on the door jangled. “It’s all yours.”
Glancing up, I saw Zaria Novak walk into the diner. Her eyes immediately found mine, and a small smile touched her lips. She inclined her head, then went to the counter and pulled up a stool.
“Hey, Zar. The usual?” Donna asked her.
“Yes, please, and a latte with the pistachio and rose flavor. I would like it to go today.”
Donna smirked. “You got it. One bowl of Emmett’s granola with plain Greek yogurt, and a fancy-ass latte to go.”
When the server left, Zaria turned her stool to look at me. Her long, stark white hair hung over her shoulder in a loose braid, and she wore a beautiful green knit cardigan.
I pushed on Gunnar’s arm to let me out of the booth. He grunted in annoyance, but set his fork down and let me out. Zaria smiled when I walked over and patted the stool next to hers. Even through the smell of bacon and coffee, I detected the faint scent of lavender and witch hazel on her.
“Hello, Riley Blackthorne. When I woke up this morning, I had a craving for Emmett’s homemade granola, even though he sometimes uses too much flaxseed, and now I know why. How is your investigation going?”
“Alright. Thank you for meeting with us the other day.” I paused, unsure how to ask my next question. “You said you could show me how to manage the cold inside me.”
She turned her stool to study me. “Yes. I sensed it inside you. I’ve never felt anything like it, and it seems to be… separate from you. Do you know what causes it?”
As Conall watched us closely and the men finished their food, I told Zaria about the implant.
Her eyes flickered as I glossed over the Roswell facility, but intense anger and pain swirled through her aura.
As I finished, Donna handed the witch her order, and Zaria pulled a twenty from her pocket and laid it on the counter.
Her aura dimmed as she slipped off the stool.
“Your eyes are such a unique shade of blue, almost violet. The cold inside you is not static. I think it can be molded, or perhaps bargained with. If I have time left, I will try to help you. Maybe I could meet you at Viggo’s cabin next week to look through his overlarge book collection. ”
“I would like that.” I stepped back, sorry that she was leaving.
Zaria turned and walked out. When I went back to the table, Donna came over, her eyes sharp.
“You folks done stirring up trouble?”
“We just need information.” Conall laid two hundred-dollar bills on the table as Donna cleared our plates.
The server deftly scooped up the bills and finished gathering our plates. “You folks need anything else?”
Conall shook his head. “No, thank you. Keep the change.”
It was just after eleven when Emmett emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Breakfast’s over,” he announced in a loud, rumbling voice. When nobody moved, his scowl deepened. “Get the fuck out.”
“Come on, Emmett,” a worker at the bar grumbled. “We just got our food.”
Emmett’s response was a low, distinctly inhuman rumble that made the silverware rattle.
Chairs scraped across linoleum as people hurried to comply.
The workers grumbled but didn’t argue. A few brave souls grabbed takeout containers from a stack by the register and scooped eggs and pancakes into them.
Donna rolled her eyes as she rang up the last few customers, but she didn’t contradict her boss.
Within minutes, the café had emptied, and Emmett flipped the sign to “Closed.”
“Donna, you can go. I’ll clean up.” The server glared at us before heading out the front door, Emmett locking it behind her.
Then he pulled a chair from a nearby table, flipped it around, and straddled it, his thick forearms resting on the backrest.
“You have your daddy’s eyes. That’s the giveaway—even more than the energy.”
“You knew my father?”