“Spectacular good looks?” Phoenix ran his hand through his hair.
Raya stopped. “Who said I didn’t have spectacular good looks?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Phoenix.
“You implied it.” Raya spotted the hotel ahead and marched on.
“I did nothing of the kind.”
Raya scoffed.
“Now, hang on a minute, witch.” He skidded in front of her. “You’re lacking a lot of things—tact, sense, and humility, for a start—but you’re not lacking in the looks department.”
“‘Not lacking’?”
“Fine, you ridiculous mortal, you’re a good-looking witch. Is that what you want? Happy now?”
Raya made a self-satisfied noise and continued walking. “You think I’m pretty!”
Phoenix rolled his eyes. “Now I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Phoenix and Raya, sitting in a tree—”
“Shut up, witch.”
“K-I-S-S—”
“Did I mention you also never know when to stop?”
“Then we have that in common as well,” said Raya. She made smooching sounds in his direction, then stopped when she realized they’d already reached the hotel. “This is where I leave you. Try not to pine.”
Their gazes locked.
Phoenix leaned toward her. “Try not to get murdered.”
3
The dawn of the next day delivered an avalanche of jet lag.
Raya headed out in search of coffee.
Paris sparkled in the morning light. Sun filtered through the regularly spaced trees and dappled the exteriors of the stone buildings. The breeze from the nearby Seine swirled down the street, kicking up leaves.
Raya wandered in the direction of the nearest Métro station and found a bustling cafe filled with Parisians. She stood on the sidewalk and stared, unsure whether to approach the bar or take a seat at one of the tables.
Jet lag didn’t help with clear thinking.
She swayed a little, made up her mind, and stepped up to the bar.
The bartender addressed her in French.
Raya pointed to the largest mug she could see and said the phrase she’d been practicing all morning: “Bonjour.Un café, s’il vousplaît.”
The drink arrived piping hot, steam curling from the top and tickling her nose as she leaned forward to inhale the scent.
Hallelujah. Rocket fuel at last.
She drank carefully at first, then faster and faster as it cooled. She tilted the cup at a precarious angle and knocked back the last few precious drops, then dropped the cup onto the bar with a satisfied clatter and turned to go.
