Chapter 6
Six
As I step into the diner, my gaze settles on an older, dark-skinned man in the far corner booth. A younger woman sits with her back to me, visibly fussing over getting him to eat in a way that suggests she’s family. His eyes instantly rise to take me in as I enter the cafe. We exchange nods.
The only booth available is right at the window by the entrance, so I slide into it, keeping my back to the door — instead of traversing the next path primed to open for me. I need to speak to Cal first. His next choice will affect mine.
A minute or so later, the preteen, now adorned in a faded red T-shirt, enters and drops himself onto the red-and-white vinyl bench seat across from me with an exaggerated huff.
“Made it through the gauntlet again, did you?” I ask, teasing. But also knowing that another argument with Lou likely took place before Cal made his way into the diner.
He narrows his eyes at me, grabbing the menu. “Don’t know what that means.”
I let it drop. My opinion of Lou shouldn’t factor into the relationship I already know I need to build with Cal.
The connection between us is gossamer thin.
I need to reinforce it before he makes the choice I already know he’s going to make.
Nothing I say in the now will make a difference.
Not at the moment. It’s the days and weeks after we part that I need to look toward.
“What are you eating?” he asks. It’s a serious question. Cal isn’t one for small talk.
“Chocolate milkshake, fries, and maybe a Caesar salad.”
He grunts. “You need meat, you look terrible.”
Meat, or protein as he more broadly means, isn’t a cure for what my body has suffered in the last few weeks …
the last months? It won’t close the wound still festering under the bandage across my shoulder and lower neck.
The neckline of my oversized T-shirt is narrow enough to cover it, thankfully.
Finally feeling a bit more clearheaded about the events of the past day, I wonder if that was Jewels’s intent when she bought the top for me.
The last months. I make myself say it, even if only in my head. I’ve been held for months. Not days, not even weeks. I’m definitely avoiding noting the exact date, but the more I acknowledge the timeframe, the less hold it can have on me. I’m just easing into it all.
Cal is watching me. “I’ll add grilled chicken to the salad,” I say easily. He squints, assessing me for sarcasm.
Letting him have a moment to simply look at me, I remove my sunglasses, carefully placing them in the case and setting them on the white-flecked, chrome-edged formica table. I don’t have a purse or any other bag. I meet his gaze over his menu, my violet eyes locked to his dark-blue.
He nods, then says, “We should order, then?”
“Sure.”
He twists around in the booth, waving at the server hovering by the pass-through window to the kitchen.
Red-vinyl stools with shiny chrome pedestals fixed to the floor line a long countertop standing between the kitchen and the booths.
The resemblance to the Choices Cafe where I met Presh does not go unnoticed, though the exterior facade of this building has been plucked from a long-past era and meticulously reconstructed to appeal to the robust prone-to-nostalgia tourist trade.
Two differences. I had selected a different table at the Choices Cafe — or had had that selection made for me. And the shiny beauty of a car parked just beyond the window is not my own. Yet.
Apparently impatient, Cal slides out of the booth, hustling over to give our order to the server across the countertop. He adds the chicken to my Caesar salad and asks for the dressing on the side.
Instead of being pissed at his impatience, the server smiles and pulls out her pad to make notes.
Not even a hint of purple in his eyes, yet he’s already wielding a touch of his power — charisma or compulsion or maybe just persuasiveness. Only time will tell. I had felt it earlier, threaded through his seemingly unconscious humming as well.
Cal spins back and returns to the booth, slumping across from me again. No charm for me, not that it would affect me on an essence level. “Lay it on me, then,” he says, already belligerent.
“Who orders their dressing on the side?” I ask instead. “Not Lou.”
He scowls at me. “Mum.”
“She wasn’t a shifter.”
“Nope. Mage.”
I hum thoughtfully.
“What? Why?”
“I prefer my salad like that as well.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I don’t give a shit about my brothers.”
“So you said.”
Cal eyes me, head tilted. “You said there was something between us. A bond? That I belong to you?”
“I’m sorry for the phrasing. You are, of course, your own person. But yes. A gossamer-thin thread. We are tied together by the universe.”
He scrunches his face doubtfully. “So try to convince me.”
“Convince you?” I echo as if I don’t understand. I do.
He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them to fist his left hand and start drumming it on the table. “I want the lotto ticket. The fourth one that Trixie didn’t take.”
Would the idea that I know her name when she was so careful to avoid all contact with me terrify Trixie? It’s not as if I need to know her at all to fuck with her fate, of course. But while often rooted in the truth, superstitions aren’t logical.
“It’s not yours.”
“For Danny, then. He’s hers.”
The toddler, he means. “It won’t work for him,” I say. “Jewels and Angie will make sure Danny is taken care of.”
“But not Lou?” Cal juts his chin out as if ready to take a hit.
“Lou has you, yes?” I say gently. But I don’t try to pretend that I’m not already judging Lou and finding her seriously wanting. A big part of that concern is how apparent it is that Lou has formed some judgement of the awry, though she seemed indifferent to the color of my eyes when we first met.
Cal nods stiffly, drawing his clenched fist into his lap as he casts his gaze past me and out the window, likely toward Lou. I have no doubt she’s watching us carefully.
“I’m not a shifter,” he says, seemingly changing the subject when he’s really just picking up the tenor of my own concern. Subconsciously, perhaps. Or maybe he’s studied Lou’s interactions with me and is starting to draw the same conclusions.
“You aren’t.”
“I ain’t a mage either.”
“Correct.”
Emotions twist over his face, too quickly for me to read. “So … we’re connected because I’m like you?”
“No one is quite like me,” I say carefully. “And the why of our connection is just becoming clear to me.”
“Because of him, then?” He spits the ‘him’ derisively, clearly not able or not willing to voice his father’s name.
“Because of who he was soul bonded to, maybe.”
“So I’m just supposed to believe you, come with you?”
“You have lots of choices, Cal. You can —”
“I don’t,” he says stubbornly. “I don’t have choices.”
The server appears at our table, laden with food. She sets the drinks down first — two chocolate shakes. Then she puts a huge burger in front of Cal, and the salad and fries in front of me.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Thanks,” Cal says, already stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth. He hisses a bit, burning himself on the obviously very recently cooked food.
“Pepper?” the server asks me.
I gesture toward the lemon wedge set next to the small bowl of dressing. “I’m fine with lemon. Thank you.”
She finally looks at me, noting my eyes and taking an involuntary step back. She checks her reaction, plastering on a smile. “I’ll bring malt vinegar. The ketchup is on the table.”
Cal dives for the ketchup as if he hadn’t noticed it set against the window with the salt and pepper. The server steps away from the table, practically running.
I take a long, slow sip of the milkshake. It fills all the empty spaces within me. A temporary but much-needed fix.
“Why do they treat you like that?” Cal asks, posing the question so casually that he almost fools me into believing he doesn’t much care.
“Why do people react to my eyes?”
“Yeah.” He takes a large bite of the burger, melted cheese and juice spilling out over his plate. It’s almost too large for his hands.
“Conditioning,” I say. Then I add truthfully, “And reality. The awry are dangerous. Powerful, unpredictable. To be feared or coveted.”
“What’s coveted?”
“Perfect for keeping in cages and trying to harness their power.”
Cal wipes his mouth on his arm. “That’s what he did to you, right? I already heard Jewels and Lou talking about it, so you can’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I pull some napkins from the stainless-steel holder on the table and pass them to him.
Cal crumples the napkins in his dripping hand. “So … you aren’t all-powerful, then.”
“I’m not all-powerful.” Then. That thought whispers through my mind. I wasn’t all powerful then. Because the vessel of the previous Conduit still existed in the now.
Bellamy and I are due a little chat about that. A much, much clearer warning that my aunt still existed in some form would have been nice.
“He’s going to come for you again,” Cal says, thoughtful. “If you were important enough to cage before.”
“He is.”
“So … I’ll go with Lou.”
“Because you think I can’t protect you?”
Cal shifts slightly in his seat, thinking. Then he takes a sip of his shake to think a little more. “No.”
I didn’t think so.
“Lou needs me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Just like that?”
“Yes. It’s your choice. Whether you think you don’t have other options or not.”
Cal turns his attention back to his food, thoughts still clearly tumbling around in his head. I do the same, mixing some of the creamy dressing through my salad and nibbling on a piece of the grilled chicken.
I desperately want to pepper Cal with questions, to know all about him. Presh will be devastated when she learns I could have come back with another of her brothers in tow, so I need to bring her something.
“Will they fear me?” he asks about halfway through his burger. “Want to steal my power too? When my eyes go purple?”
“They might.”
“Then what?”
“Then … I’ll come for you.”