The toast pops. Perfect. I hand him a plate.
We sit at the table. The morning light is thin and grey, the kind that Bristol does in November, not committing to anything in particular. The kitchen looks exactly the same as it always does. Mugs in their enforced descending row. Coffee jar on the right. Crystals on the windowsill facing whatever direction Hex decided they should face.
The only difference is the light fitting above the table, which contains a blown bulb. One of seven throughout the flat, all casualties of last night. I have a box of replacement bulbs somewhere. Under the sink, probably. I should replace them today.
I look more carefully at the table, and then the floor. I recall my sleepy journey from bedroom to kitchen.
“Did you sweep up the broken glass from the bulbs?” I ask. Because there are no shards anywhere, and that seems strange.
“Yes. While you were sleeping. Glass can cut humans, and humans are very soft and squishy, and their insides leak easily.”
I blink. I bite my toast. I delete the horrific mental image from my mind. And replace it with one of a shadow prince wandering around my flat with a dustpan and brush, being all diligently domesticated.
I shake my head. That image is also disturbing. Just in a completely different way.
So I’m not going to think about it either. I’m going to think about my to-do list for today, the first task being replacing the bulbs. Normal things. I am going to do normal things. Because I’m still normal.
My phone rings.
Felix, says the screen, and I answer it so fast I nearly drop it.
“Before you say anything,” says Felix, “I am completely fine.”
“You don’t sound completely fine.”
“I sound like someone who inhaled a quantity of smoke and then spent the night in a Premier Inn in their pyjamas, which is exactly what I am.”
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital!” I exclaim.
Felix huffs. “Because I didn’t want to. Hospitals are full of bad energy. And, you know, Big Pharma.”
I sigh and wonder exactly when my strange goth co-worker became my friend. I suspect it was around the time a shadow being started flirting with me and my whole neatly ordered life went sideways.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, because, despite all reasonable objections I might have, I’m happy that I have a chaos gremlin goth barista for a friend.
“I told you I’m fine.” A pause, and then, slightly more quietly. “My flat is gone, Adam.”
I close my eyes for a second. “Felix.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Most of my stuff is gone, but stuff is just stuff.” He says it in the tone of someone who has been telling themselves this all night and is nearly convinced. “I’m going to need a sofa to sleep on for a bit though, if that’s okay. Just until I sort something out.”
“Obviously. You don’t even have to ask.”
“I know. I’m asking anyway.” There is a pause, the kind that means Felix is choosing his next words carefully, which is not something Felix does very often. “How are you? Did anything happen?”
I look at Hex across the table. Hex looks back at me.
“A bit,” I say. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
“Adam.”
“Felix.”
A long pause. “Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is the insufferably attractive shadow prince keeping you safe?”
