Chapter 19 Simone
Chapter nineteen
Simone
The mirror reflected someone I barely recognized, a woman in pink lace, with curls piled artfully atop her head and jewelry that winked with subtle enchantment.
Me, but somehow more. As if the week of being seen by Krampus had pulled something hidden to the surface, something that had always been there, waiting.
I smoothed my hands over the dress he'd bought me, feeling amazing and beautiful.
"If you're done making bedroom eyes at yourself, we've got streamers falling down by the counter.
" Silas's voice shattered my moment of vanity.
He stood in the bathroom doorway, one hip cocked against the frame, hands covered in what looked like edible glitter.
His eyeliner was even sharper than usual, a perfect wing.
"I'm not—" I started to protest, but his knowing smirk stopped me. "Fine. Streamers. On it."
The café buzzed with pre-party energy, transformed from our usual cozy space into something magical.
I stepped out of the tiny bathroom into controlled chaos, my heels clicking against the wooden floor with a confidence I wasn't sure I'd earned yet but was damn well faking.
Yesterday's ogre incident felt like a lifetime ago, the broken door replaced, the scattered mugs swept away, the terror of being thrown into the pastry case healed by Krampus's hands and his surprising apology afterward.
Today was new. Today was mine.
"Simone! Opinion needed!" Bramble zipped overhead, her tiny body nearly obscured by a length of garland that pulsed with blue-silver light. "Against the windows or across the ceiling beams?"
I tilted my head, considering. "Start at the central beam, then curve down toward each window. Let them drape a bit in the middle, like they're reaching for each other."
She grinned, wings a blur of motion. "Look at you, with the decorator's eye."
I smiled up at her. "It's our first party and I want it perfect."
The garland unfurled from her hands with surprising grace, curling exactly where she directed it.
When she brushed her fingers along its length, it emitted a soft chime and released a shower of silver sparkles that evaporated before hitting the tables below.
Magic that existed purely for delight, not necessity.
Something I would have considered frivolous a week ago.
Across the room, Silas had arranged trays of his specialty gingerbread men, not the cute, harmless kind, but tiny cookie monsters with surprisingly sharp teeth and expressive frosting faces. As I approached, one snapped at my finger.
"Rude," I told it, and it seemed to grin wider.
"They only respect strength," Silas explained, flicking the cookie's head with one black-painted nail. The gingerbread man immediately fell in line. "Like most men."
I laughed. "They're perfect. Just make sure the sign is clear about dunking them in hot chocolate before eating. I don't need another incident like the singing cupcakes."
Silas shuddered dramatically. "Those brats deserved what they got.
Who tries to eat something that's actively performing a Broadway number?
" He adjusted his signature black apron, the fishnet sleeves underneath catching the light.
"Besides, it's not a proper supernatural café if something doesn't try to bite you back. "
I moved on to the tables, arranging mismatched velvet cloths in deep emerald, sapphire, and amethyst across the surfaces.
Each centerpiece featured Bramble's greenhouse creations, black roses dusted with silver, moon lilies that opened and closed with passing shadows, and strange spiky blooms that occasionally whispered compliments to whoever leaned close enough to hear.
The transformation was stunning. Warm light pooled from lanterns that floated just below the ceiling, their glow shifting subtly with the mood of the room.
The usual chairs had been replaced with plush seats in jewel tones, and the bar sparkled with tiny bottles of magical mix-ins for the evening's drinks—"Liquid Courage" that actually granted temporary bravery, "Starlight Whispers" that made your words shimmer in the air, "Memory Mint" that briefly let you relive your happiest moment while sipping.
Krampus occupied the corner booth, he'd dressed for the occasion, dark velvet that matched the richness of my dress but in midnight black, embroidered with silver patterns that seemed to move when I wasn't looking directly at them. His horns gleamed in the soft light, and his golden eyes—
His eyes never left me.
I held his gaze across the room, remembering his claws on my skin, his voice in my ear, his promise that we belonged to each other. His lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, knowing exactly what effect he had on me.
"If you two start eye-fucking any harder, I’m going to gag," Silas stage-whispered as he passed behind me with a tray of spiced cider. "Save it for after the announcement, boss lady."
I tore my eyes away, focusing on straightening a centerpiece that was already perfect. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Uh-huh." Silas rolled his eyes so hard I worried they might get stuck.
I stepped back to survey the café, my café, at least for now, until tonight's big announcement that would make it official.
The space had never looked more beautiful, more welcoming, more like home.
But the real difference wasn't in the decorations or the lights or even the special menu items Silas and I had spent hours perfecting.
The difference was me. For the first time since childhood, I wasn't running on frantic energy, desperate to please everyone, terrified that one mistake would bring everything crashing down.
Instead, I moved through my domain with certainty.
With joy and the knowledge that I belonged here not because I'd earned it through perfect service, but because this place was an extension of who I truly was.
I caught Krampus's eye once more and smiled.
His answering look promised that the evening was just beginning.
The café door jingled incessantly as guests began to arrive, I stood near the counter greeting familiar faces.
The first to approach me was Mrs. Keening, the banshee mom whose toddler had almost shattered every mug in the café with a single tantrum-induced wail.
Today, the little star clung to her hand quietly, enormous silver eyes taking in the decorations with wonder.
"Miss Simone!" Mrs. Keening's voice carried the musical lilt all banshees had. "We've brought you something special."
The toddler stepped forward, extending a stack of cards with chubby hands. The papers were covered in what looked like multicolored scribbles, but when I accepted them, the marks began to move, forming into simple pictures of the café, with a pink figure behind the counter. Me.
"She made one every day this week," Mrs. Keening explained. "Ever since you helped her learn to control her voice with that special tea."
I knelt to the toddler's level. "They're beautiful. Thank you so much."
The child beamed and whispered—actually whispered instead of screeching—"You make the best hot chocolate in the universe."
My throat tightened unexpectedly. "Well, you're my favorite artist in the universe."
The little banshee giggled and darted off toward the cookie display, where Silas was already eyeing her warily. I straightened just as the door chimed again, this time admitting a figure who seemed to float rather than walk.
Queen Amaryllis of the Winter Court, her chiffon robes billowing around her despite the absence of wind.
I'd only seen her twice before, once when she'd come to broker peace with the Summer fae over our blueberry scones, and again when she'd stopped in during a snowstorm for a pot of moonflower tea.
"Café Keeper," she greeted, her voice like icicles chiming together. "Your establishment honors us with its warmth."
I bobbed something between a curtsy and a nod, never quite sure of the protocol with fae royalty. "We're honored by your presence, Your Majesty."
She extended slender fingers, revealing a sphere that appeared to be made of captured moonlight.
It pulsed gently, its glow shifting between silver and soft blue.
"A token of the Court's appreciation. Place it near your workspace, and it will calm the energies around you when chaos threatens to overwhelm. "
An anti-anxiety orb. For me. From the queen of the fae who was rumored to have turned a duke into a toadstool for serving her tea at the wrong temperature.
"I—thank you," I managed, accepting the gift with hands that trembled only slightly. "It's beautiful."
Queen Amaryllis nodded regally, then glided toward a table where several other fae were already arranging themselves.
I barely had time to place the orb on the counter before the door banged open with enough force to make the magical bells hiccup.
The goblin sisters, tumbled in as a tangle of green limbs and bickering voices.
"I'm giving it to her!"
"No, I am! You did it last year!"
"There wasn't a party last year, numbskull!"
One finally broke free of the tussle, thrusting a crudely wrapped package at me with a triumphant grin that revealed too many pointed teeth. "For you, Pink Lady! It's a charm for unbreakable mugs. Because you're always dropping things."
"I do not—" I started to protest, then remembered the countless mugs I'd broken over the years. "That's... actually really thoughtful. Thank you."
The other sister shoved forward. "It was my idea! And I get the corner booth!"
"No, I get it!" The smaller one yanked her back by her patchy vest.
Within seconds, they were a rolling ball of green limbs again, tumbling toward the contested booth while uttering creative curses involving unspeakable bodily functions. I noticed they carefully avoided the one where Krampus sat watching the proceedings with amused tolerance.
The door chimed more sedately as the next guest entered.
I recognized the satyr immediately, the one who'd caused a scene harassing Dahlia and Bramble.
Today, he approached with his head bowed, hooves clicking nervously on the wooden floor.
"Miss Simone." He extended a woven basket filled with bundles of herbs and spices that glowed with subtle enchantment.
"A peace offering. And my formal apology.
The café has been... most generous in giving me a second chance. "
The scent rising from the basket was intoxicating, cinnamon that smelled like a childhood I hadn't actually experienced, vanilla that somehow carried notes of summer sunshine, and others I couldn't even name.
"Apology accepted," I said, accepting the basket. "Just keep your hands and comments to yourself, hmm?"
His nervous expression broke into relieved joy. "Absolutely! No means no, I swear by the old gods and the new shopping mall!"
As he trotted off toward the drink table, I spotted a familiar figure hunched by the door.
The lich who occupied the corner table every Wednesday, reading ancient tomes and complaining that our tea was "tolerable, I suppose.
" He clutched a leather-bound book to his chest, its binding cracked with age and seemingly held together by magic and stubbornness, much like the lich himself.
He shuffled forward, avoiding eye contact. "For future upgrades," he muttered, thrusting the book at me. "Your brewing techniques are... not entirely abysmal. This might help."
I accepted the tome carefully, feeling the magic pulsing from its pages. The title, written in a language I couldn't read, shimmered and rearranged itself: "Enchanted Brewing: 1001 Magical Recipes for Discerning Undead."
"This is incredibly generous," I said, genuinely touched.
He harrumphed and shuffled away, but not before I caught the faintest upturn of his skeletal lips.
The pattern continued as more guests arrived.
The werewolf pack from the accounting firm brought a hand-carved wooden sign for the door.
A trio of witches presented a set of enchanted stirring spoons that sang quietly while in use.
The vampire couple who always shared a table by the window on date nights offered a bottle of iridescent liquid that "captures the essence of your best day and lets you savor it drop by drop. "
Each gift came with words of gratitude. For offering a space where magical beings could simply exist without hiding. Being kind when kindness wasn't expected.
I stood in the center of it all, arms full of presents and throat tight with emotion I couldn't quite swallow down. These people, these magical, wonderful, sometimes difficult creatures, truly appreciated all the effort I'd put in day by day.
A warm hand touched my lower back, and I didn't need to look to know it was Krampus.
"You look overwhelmed," he observed, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
I blinked rapidly, determined not to ruin Silas's eye makeup job with tears. "I didn't know," I whispered. "I didn't know they felt this way."
His hand squeezed gently at my waist. "They've always felt this way. You just couldn't let yourself believe it."
He was right. I'd been so busy trying to earn my place that I hadn't realized I'd already found it. These people weren't just customers or even friends. They were family. My family.
And finally, I was ready to fully be theirs in return.