Chapter two
pour yourself a li’l mug of depression
I barely slept, and nightmares ravaged what sleep I did get. Most were promptly forgotten when I woke up, but one remained. At work, Sasha knocked a bunch of canisters off the counter, and I caught them all with a serving tray. Dream Sasha wasn’t impressed; he was horrified. He’d cried, “Freak!” and grabbed a paring knife. With help from the customers, Sasha tackled me and slipped a rope around my neck. From his table in the corner, Darragh watched on as I suffocated.
***
Sasha was busy with a customer when I arrived for my shift at noon. Wearing icy blue contacts, he was exceptionally striking today. He pulsed his brows once in greeting as I snuck behind him into the back.
I threw my bag down and tied on an apron. Finished with his customer, Sasha leaned on the doorframe and said, “Hey sis.” He smoothed his tight black pants, some leather substitute, and adjusted the sleeve of his fishnet turtleneck.
“Nice eyes,” I said.
“Oh, these old things?” Sasha boasted. He winced and prodded his lower lid. “Good, cause these girls are thick. Everything is blurry as shit.” Sasha blinked and refocused on me. To mask my exhaustion, I’d gone overboard with makeup this morning. Now, standing in front of Sasha, I felt silly. He was about to roast me harder than the coffee—
“You’re looking fierce today.” Sasha made a gooseneck grabbing motion. “Trying to impress someone?”
Oh .
I shrugged. “I just wanted to look nice.”
“Could it have anything to do with the stunning boy out front?”
I dropped my voice to a whisper. “He’s here again?”
Darragh had not been here when I walked in—I mean, I didn’t look for him, if that’s what you’re thinking.
Sasha pursed his bold, red lips. “Yes, ma’am.” Pushing by Sasha, I peered into the dining room. Sure enough, Darragh occupied the same spot, obscured amongst monstera leaves. There was hardly room for coffee amongst the piles of books he’d already stacked on the table. Catching sight of me peering out, Darragh made his way to the counter. Instinctively, I backed away, hoping Sasha would take the lead.
Two hands shoved me— hard— and momentum sent me stumbling forward. Grabbing the counter, I steadied myself and shot Sasha a dirty look. He busied himself, furiously organizing nothing, and mouthed the words, ‘ You’re welcome.’
Darragh approached cautiously, eyes darting between me and the back room. Wearing his hair down today, perfect brown waves framed Darragh’s face.
“Hey!” I shouted, too cheerfully.
“How are you?”
“I’m—”
Darragh’s gaze pinned me with an unsettling intensity. All at once I realized he wasn’t asking, ‘How are you?’ with the expectation of a lie and some quip about the weather, but rather, he was asking, ‘Are you okay?’
My heart raced as I considered responses.
No, I’m not okay.
I’m drowning. I cry all the time. I can’t stand the sight of myself. I’m alone.
And I’m tired.
Darragh’s curious eyes lingered on me, as if searching for those answers I was so unwilling to give. I felt bare under his gaze, like I was underdressed, and he could see every part of me. Suddenly fearful, my desire for connection was swiftly executed at the prospect of admitting vulnerability before a stranger.
I lied when I said, “I’m good.”
Unsatisfied, Darragh’s lips compressed.
Feeling as if I’d just failed a test, I asked, “What can I get you?”
“I’d like the pumpkin latte.”
“Yeah?”
Darragh nodded. He waited while I made his drink, watching the process intently. When I finished, I slid the mug over. Darragh snatched it without hesitation.
“Careful! It’s hot.” A flurry of lawsuits flashed before me as Darragh tipped the mug against his lips and chugged. There was no screaming, no burning or recoiling. When Darragh finished drinking, he looked refreshed.
“Thank you,” Darragh said, and then headed back to his table.
Sasha caught my eye from the back. Eyes wide, he mouthed, ‘ What the fuck?’
***
During a break, I checked my phone, only to find more news about the slayings in West Virginia. A post from our Prime Minister, urging people with magical abilities to come forward, said: We need to study this phenomenon—we need to save lives . The comment section was a warzone.
If any of those freaks comes near me or my kids, I’ll kill them
This is why we need guns
freaks
If I was magic, I wouldn’t come forward either.
I joined Sasha out front. We’d entered the afternoon lull, and the café was empty except for Darragh. My phone still open to the post, I slid it over to Sasha. “What do you think of all this?”
“All what?” Sasha read the headline. “The stuff about the freaks?”
‘Freaks’ was far from politically correct. Hearing it out loud, I winced. “I think we’re saying people with magical abilities now.”
Crossing his arms, Sasha said, “That’s just more words to say freak.” I didn’t respond, and Sasha continued. “I think it’s a hoax.”
“You what? ”
“Not the deaths,” Sasha clarified. “But Nell, come on.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “ Magic? How old are we?”
It seemed silly when he put it that way.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “There are so many things we don’t understand. Maybe this is one of them?”
Sasha narrowed his eyes and nudged me playfully. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Nelli? Hm? Any extraordinary secrets?”
My tone was strict and humourless when I said, “No.” Even the thought made my stomach clench so tightly it hurt.
Across the café, Darragh cleared his throat and slid back his chair. Sasha and I pasted on smiles as he approached the counter. After he ordered another coffee, Darragh lingered. He looked at me like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Sasha, my best friend and unofficial matchmaker, stepped in.
“Okay, there is obviously some sort of”—he waved between me and Darragh—“ energy going on here.” Squeezing my shoulders, Sasha added, “Why don’t you give my girl your number, and y’all can chat later?”
Mortification flushed my cheeks.
“No.”
I cringed, and Sasha recoiled as if Darragh had reached over and slapped him.
“I don’t have one,” Darragh quickly continued. Come to think of it, he’d never had a phone or laptop with him. Only books.
Sasha crossed his arms. “Who doesn’t have a phone in this country—”
Clattering metal erupted behind us. Frothy milk spewed everywhere as a milk canister rolled across the tiles. “Shoot!” Sasha scooped up the canister while I rushed to find a mop. We finished cleaning the mess, and I glanced across the café.
Darragh was gone.
***
The shops on main street stayed open late on Halloween. Delighted shrieks pierced the windows as children scurried about, trick-or-treating. As the night came to an end, I happily handed out the last of our candy to a witch and a tiny Ruth Bader Ginsburg. On her way out, Ruth bonked the witch with her gavel, and I laughed.
The laugh died as my favourite customer walked in.
“You know,” Turner said, approaching the counter, “you should smile at people when they come in. ”
Fixing Turner with a heated stare, Sasha threw a towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. I gave Sasha a look that said, ‘ If you love me, you’ll kill me .’
Once I’d made Turner’s drink, I slid it across the counter, hoping he’d take it and go.
He did not. Instead, he said, “You look tired.”
Thanks.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
Turner scoffed. “I only get two hours of sleep a night, and I don’t look tired.” When I didn’t respond, he asked, “Big plans tonight?”
“Yes, actually. I’m going to my friend’s show.” I nodded at Sasha. Turner mulled for a moment, perhaps waiting for an invitation that wouldn’t come. I pretended to clean the espresso machine until he left.
“You know, you could actually come,” Sasha said. Before I could say no, Sasha continued. “You love the Halloween show!”
“I’m tired,” I replied. “I’m just gonna go home to bed.”
“Come on, Nelli!” Sasha stamped his foot. “All you do is work and sleep.”
“Yet I have no money, and I’m always tired.”
Sasha’s disappointment was palpable, but he didn’t push. He did say, “How are you ever going to meet anyone?”
Heat tinged my cheeks. I could meet them here , if only you didn’t scare them away! Sasha already felt terrible about the incident with Darragh. He’d gone out of his way to be extra nice, which was uncharacteristic, and undoubtedly guilt driven. So, I bit my tongue.
“If it’s fate, I’m sure I’ll meet them on my way home from work, or even better, in my own kitchen.”
Sasha pursed his lips. “Coming from the person who dials 9-1- on her way home just in case? You’d die if you ran into anyone in that alley.”
I wish.
“Speaking of which—I brought you this.” Sasha pulled a sachet from his pocket. The swirling scent of lavender filled the air as he handed it to me. “It’ll protect you from the spirits tonight.”
I slipped the sachet in my pocket. You don’t believe in magic, but you believe in this bullshit?
“Thanks.”
Sasha’s apron buzzed and he disappeared into the back to take a call. When he returned, he approached me with a sickly-sweet smile.
“Stop,” I said. “What? What do you want now?”
Sasha dragged his finger along my arm. “They want performers to check-in early tonight.”
“No. You can’t leave me here alone.”
“You know I gotta beat this mug.” Sasha leaned on my shoulder, fluttering his lashes.
“Your skin is flawless.” I looked anywhere but Sasha’s pleading face.
“It is, isn’t it?” He straightened and framed his face proudly. “Fifteen minutes?” he begged.
I didn’t budge. I hated closing alone. The task itself was easy enough, but it was a serious health and safety no-no. If Morgan found out, she’d be furious. Sasha pouted, then his eyes widened as a brilliant thought occurred to him. “If you let me go early, I’ll take Turner’s order for a week.” Raising one perfect brow, Sasha smirked.
It was a good deal.
I considered the offer. Sasha would leave fifteen minutes early tonight. He knew it. I knew it. I might as well get something in return. Crossing my arms, I muttered, “Two weeks.” Sasha let out a triumphant laugh and gave me a spine-crunching hug. He scrambled to gather his things. “While you’re taking Turner’s orders, can you also turn on the charm and get him interested in you instead? ”
“Nuh-uh, can’t fix poor taste, honey.” Sasha walked out of the back and dodged a moist milk rag. He feigned a look of dismay and tapped the play button on his phone. Tina Turner’s The Best played from the speaker. Sasha stalked forward with exaggerated strides.
“Please don’t,” I said.
Sasha held my arms and spun me while he lip-synched to Tina. Twirling around the counter, Sasha rolled across each table on his way out. Before exiting, Sasha pointed at me and said, “You know what you are, Nelli!”
He left, and continued dancing down the street.
My smile faded with the music.
The absence of noise and movement left the café feeling antiseptic and wrong. I locked the front door and flicked the lights off. Once I double-checked that Sasha had cleaned everything he promised he would, I counted the cash and put it safely in Morgan’s office. I slipped on my jacket, grabbed my bag, and checked my phone. A message from Sasha popped up:
LOVE YOU BITCH.
‘Wait until Turner tells you about his gym routine,’ I replied. Guided by muscle memory, my fingers opened the phone app to type 9-1-. Sasha’s teasing replayed in my head. I closed the app and tucked my phone away. I unlocked the front door so I could escape, and quickly re-locked it behind me. “Oh!”
A tiny child dressed as Satan bumped me.
“Sorry!” Satan apologized. Three more children scampered by, vanishing down the street. Their laughter disappeared into the night, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Clutching my coat tighter at my throat, I took off for home.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
Were they mine?
No—the steps sounded after mine. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I glanced behind me. A shadow ducked into a shop doorway. My heart pounded and I walked faster. I jogged as I rounded the corner where I could dip into the alley. Despite the darkness, I could see two people standing beside the dumpster. Turner’s blonde hair was immediately recognizable, his stupid pink collar visible under his beige jacket.
Ugh. Not this asshole.
Turner noticed me and gestured to the girl behind him. “I just caught her going through the trash.” I recognized the girl; she’d come into the café yesterday. I think her name was…Kristina?
Kristina didn’t look up as Turner continued berating her.
“Okay,” I interrupted. “That’s enough. I’m sure she was just leaving.”
Kristina met my eyes and smiled weakly. Eager for an escape, she made her way out of the alley. As she passed Turner, he pointed and snickered. “She’s literally got garbage stuck—”
Crunch!
Each of Turner’s fingers splayed backward and broke . “Agh!” Turner’s cry echoed across the bricks. Trembling, he cradled his hand against his chest.
Kristina turned back, her expression horrified. “I didn’t mean to!” she whimpered. Garbage crunched beneath her sneakers as she backed away.
Turner blew out a frantic breath and screamed, “You fucking freak!” He lunged after Kristina.
“Hey!” I grabbed Turner’s jacket, but it slipped through my fingers.
Using his left hand, Turner uppercut Kristina. The blow landed beneath her chin, and Kristina, who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, was thrown backward. Stumbling, she tried to catch herself, tried to stop her head from smashing into the steel dumpster—
BANG!
The noise tore down the alley like a gunshot and Kristina hit the ground.
She did not get back up.
Turner’s obnoxious breathing was the only sound to interrupt the electric silence that descended upon us.
Shoving by Turner, I knelt by Kristina’s tiny, still body. Crimson blood flowed heavy from a gash through her eyebrow…but it was the angle of her neck against the pavement that turned my stomach. Afraid to touch her, I whispered, “What did you do?”
“You saw it!” Turner shouted. “She tried to kill me!”
“No, she didn’t! She was trying to leave!” My vision clouded and my breath hitched. “I—I think she’s dead.”
“Good!” Turner screamed. “She was one of those people! One of those freaks! She would have killed me!”
A fleeting memory of Kristina, timidly sliding coins across the counter, replayed in my mind. I saw her beaming smile as she thanked me, coffee and cookie clutched against her chest. Now she lay discarded like the garbage around her.
“She was scared,” I murmured.
Sticking out of Kristina’s pocket, I recognized one of Rousseau’s pastry bags. Half of a chocolate chip cookie had fallen out and lay in crumbs. A sickening leap of sympathy hammered my chest. Whenever I ate something really good, I’d save half and stash it in the fridge. That way, I always had one good thing to look forward to. When times get dark, it’s always important to have one good thing to look forward to. Even if it’s only a stale cookie.
Snatching bits of cookie from the ground, hot rage filled my belly as I rounded on Turner.
“Look at my hand!” Turner cried. “It was me or her!”
That’s what he’d tell people, that it was him or the freak .
And they would believe him.
I hurled crumbs at Turner. An absurd look crossed his face as he shielded it from the remains of Kristina’s joy.
My cheeks flared hot.
“What the fu—” Turner coughed, and a tiny puff of smoke sputtered from his lips. Clutching his throat, Turner cried, “You’re one of them too?” His words came out ragged and breathy, as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen. Turner slid a hand into his pocket and withdrew something that glinted in the dim light. A thwick noise sounded just as Turner cried, “You freak bitch!” and lunged. Pressure stuck my side—I ignored it and shoved Turner away.
I wanted more than to defend myself; I wanted justice for the little girl who lay dead at Turner’s feet. My entire body was alive with fury now. Sweat drenched my palms, and I dragged them along my thighs. I wanted Turner to scream, and I wanted to watch his body writhe on the filthy pavement.
In that moment, I wanted him dead.
“Agh!” Turner took a jerky step back and fell, sending a metal garbage bin clanking down the alley. Like someone trying to douse a flame, Turner pawed at his eyes. When his hands fell away, lazy, grey steam trickled from his empty, charred eye sockets.
White goo poured down Turner’s cheeks like tears.
A blistery gust of wind swept down the alley, and Turner’s face erupted into a crackling flame. Like delicate paper brought to a candle, Turner’s skin darkened and curled. He finally screamed—a horrifying, shrill cry—and wildfire consumed his body as he writhed on the asphalt.
All at once, the writhing and screaming ceased. The fire didn’t mind that Turner was dead, it continued smoldering. Shock held me in place. One hand covered my mouth, the other cradled my side.
I’d killed him .
But how?! How could I have—
Turner was right. I’m one of those people. People with magical abilities.
Freak bitch.
A wave of dread rooted in my belly. Fast-moving footsteps sounded against pavement, but I couldn’t look away from Turner’s crackling corpse. A hand touched my arm. I followed it and blinked stupidly at the person beside me. Darragh. Glancing rapidly between me and Turner, he asked, “Are you alright?”
“I…I think I killed him.”
Darragh’s brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth, but a distant police siren bleated, cutting him off. Someone must have heard screams and called 9-1-1. Darragh straightened and asked, “What’s that noise?”
“The police. They’ll be…”—I gulped, finding it difficult to speak—“coming for me.”
Darragh held my gaze. His eyebrows scrunched together, like he was trying to solve a complex math problem. A siren bleated again, closer. Darragh scooped up my bag and shoved it against my chest. Pushing me, his voice was urgent when he said, “Go. Now.”
I resisted, instead reaching for Kristina. “I’m not leaving her—”
“I’ll take care of it.” Darragh half pushed, half carried me up the stairs to my apartment. I don’t remember unlocking the door, but Darragh grabbed the knob and shoved me inside. “Stay inside. No matter what you hear—do not come out.” The door slammed behind me. Leaning against it, I slid until I hit the floor. My fingers were slippery as I pulled them away from my side.
Blood? Was it mine? More blood oozed through my coat and a flaring pain shot into my ribs. Definitely mine.
“Ugh.” Sickness swelled in my throat, and I rested my head against the door. Within five minutes, I’d witnessed a murder, been stabbed, and killed someone. So, why wasn’t I crying? I felt…nothing. Sitting inside my messy apartment, I didn’t care what happened next. I reached for my phone, needing to message Sasha. Right about now, he’d be sliding into a sequin dress—sequinsed dress, in his words—and laughing with the other queens. I couldn’t take that from him. Who else could I talk to? I exhausted the list quickly. There was no one else. I turned to the last person I should have.
Myself.
The police would be here soon. Two people were dead, and there was probably a blood trail leading to my apartment. Would I go to jail? What would they do to me when they found out I was one of those people?
Turner’s voice replayed over and over. Freak bitch!
My lip trembled and tears blurred my vision. The loneliness, the stress, the fury—all at once, everything pressed in with suffocating clarity.
It’s too much .
My breath caught, and all the pain spilled down my cheeks. With great difficulty, I withdrew a pen and an old, tattered receipt from my purse. Fighting the urge to close my eyes, I scribbled a note to Sasha, asking him to take care of Watney. I checked the knob above my head, making sure it was unlocked so the police could get in. As blood and tears poured out of me, I only had one thought:
I don’t want to be here anymore .