“Just Marlowe. Marlowe Reilly.” She hands over cash for the coffee.
As I drop the change into her hand, I ask, “Do any kelpies live in Crescent Cove?”
Her fingers close around the coins. She sets down her cup and busies herself with putting the change into her wallet, then tucking the wallet into her bag. “Kelpies? Like the dogs?”
“No, the water horses. The flesh-eating kind.”
“No kelpies live in Crescent Cove. They’re much too dangerous to reside within the town limits.”
“How about nearby?”
“Why do you ask?”
I touch my chest where the beautiful black horse nuzzled and pierced it last night. The flesh is seamless now, but I still feel the phantom pain of those white fangs and the puff of warm breath against my skin. “I had anencounter with two of them. I’m going to ask the council about it tonight, at the meeting.”
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to go making waves with the council, not when you’re so new in town. The last thing you need is to be labeled as a troublemaker.”
Ah yes, my old familiar title. She’s right—I don’t want to have that reputation here.
“Shouldn’t the council know about the kelpies, though?” I say. “They’re dangerous. They could kill someone. This close to Crescent Cove, any killings like that would bring unwanted attention to the town.”
“Where did you encounter them?” she asks.
“Fuller’s Pond.”
“That’s not too close. I’d just let it go. You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“I came close tonotbeing alive.” I touch my chest again, and her eyes follow the motion.
The bell rings again, and a few locals enter the diner. As I greet them, I’m conscious of Marlowe leaving the bar and slipping outside into the sunshine.
The morning feels slightly more colorless with her gone.
Suddenly I realize that she never took a sip of the coffee.
“Hang on a second,” I tell my customers, and I rush out the door so fast the bell jangles furiously.
Marlowe is a dozen steps down the street, standing hesitantly beside a trash can. She takes the lid off the coffeecup, sniffs the contents, then shakes her head and reaches toward the trash can.
“Hey!” I yell.
She startles, caught in the act of throwing away the drink she just paid for.
“What are you doing?” My voice sounds rougher and meaner than I intend, but I’m honestly pissed off. “I made you a top-notch goddamn potion that’s not only effective but fucking delicious, and you’re just gonna throw it out? Really?”
She bites her lip. Her mouth is a plush cherry red, and her black hair shines like living midnight under the sun…
What thehellis wrong with me? Why am I thinking in poetry right now?
I keep striding toward her. She stands her ground, grimacing like she’s upset at being caught. “Look, I don’t know you,” she says defensively. “I was going to try the coffee, but the way you made it was so different…”
“I told you it will do the same thing that Lou’s potions would have done. It’ll make you cry and curse. You’ll want to hide in bed and beat someone up at the same time. What I don’t understand is why you’d want to feel all that, why you’d willingly subject yourself to an avalanche of negative emotionon purpose.And why, after I gave you what you asked for, would you throw it away without even tasting it? Do you think I’m trying to poison you?”
Her eyes narrow. “From the way you’re ranting, I’m starting to think that’s a distinct possibility. By any chance do you have a habit of typing ‘all work and no play makes Rick a dull boy’ for hours on end, when you’re not chasing people down the sidewalk?”
