Felix considers this. “That’s incredibly unhinged.”
“Thank you,” says Hex warmly.
Felix points at approximately the right place. “I like him,” he tells me.
“That’s because you’re both menaces,” I groan. I’m really not sure what I have done to deserve these two.
Felix’s eyes narrow as he stares at the shadow sitting in the chair opposite me. “Your aura is intense. You’re building back up fast.” A pause. “How long until you’re at full strength?”
Hex looks at me. I look at my coffee. “Hard to say,” he says, his voice perfectly even.
Felix looks between me and the not so empty chair. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, which is unusual for Felix. He stands up. “Right. Customers.” He pauses. “Adam. You’re wearing the blue jumper.”
“I know.”
Felix looks at the space where Hex is sitting. The space where Hex is sitting looks back with an expression of complete serenity that Felix somehow apparently perceives, because he makes a small, knowing sound and goes back to the counter.
The coffee shop hums around us. I watch Hex watch the room with that easy, proprietorial air he brings to every space he occupies. Like he owns it. Like he owns everything, just by being in it.
It’s incredibly irritating. Extroverted, overly confident people are the worst. Why couldn’t it have been a shy shadow prince who needed to feed on me?
I sigh and sip my coffee. I pretend I’m not looking at anything in particular, when in fact I’m very much looking at him.
He is hiding right now. Masquerading as my shadow. Choosing to be all wispy and ill-defined. But I saw his true form this morning. He was more solid than yesterday. The light wasn’t passing through him at all anymore. A few days ago he was barely there. This morning he was there, completely, like he’s always been there.
He’s recovering. Getting his strength back. That’s good. That’s what I wanted when I broke the salt line and held out my hand.
It’s good. It’s fine.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Hex says, looking at me with his unnerving level of attention.
“I’m thinking about coffee,” I say breezily.
“You’re not thinking about coffee,” he states.
I ignore him and look out the window. The grey Bristol morning carries on, a woman walking a dog, a cyclist weaving between parked cars, ordinary weekday business. Then something catches my eye in the glass. In the shadow of the doorway across the street.
A shape. Just for a second. There and then gone.
“Hex,” I say quietly.
“I know.” His voice has shifted, not alarmed but attentive in a way that is different from his usual lazy watchfulness.
“What was that?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then that easy smile slides back onto his face, and he starts reading the seasonal specials card as if nothing happened. “Nothing to worry about today.”
Today.
I look at him. He doesn’t look back. He’s reading about the winter spiced latte with the focused attention of someone with absolutely no thoughts about anything else.
I wrap both hands around my mug and look back out at the perfectly ordinary street.
Today, he said.
I file that away somewhere I’m not going to look at directly. Right next to the thought about how solid he was this morning. Right next to the thought about how easily he said we.
Outside, the Bristol morning carries on. Entirely normal. Entirely fine.
