Her voice has risen, and the last word fractures like she’s about to cry. I glance around at the half-dozen guests in the diner, all of them occupied with chatting and eating. It’s been a good day, and we’re right at the start of the dinner rush. I can’t have a volatile patron riling everybody up, and this woman seems like she’s on the verge of a breakdown.
“Listen, I’m not Lou, but I know all his recipes,” I say. “What kind of drink did you want?”
“One of the special ones.” She nods toward the huge chalkboard on the wall behind me. There’s a rectangle marked off and labeled, “Emotive Options.” In that section are the special concoctions that make this place unique—the ones my family is gifted with making. Some people call them potions.
As a member of a family of potion-making witches, I was the natural choice to inherit the Toast & Tide, because my gift showed up the same way Uncle Lou’s did. We use the same methods to infuse emotive magic into our brews. He stuck mostly to coffee, and though coffee is a staple for me, too, I’ve expanded my range to include milkshakes, smoothies, cocktails, and tea. A drink from me will change your mood to anything you want.
Most people prefer to feel happy, calm, motivated, smart, lucky, or something positive like that. Mindset ishuge, especially for the residents of a town populated almost exclusively by supernatural beings.
Usually I can tell what someone’s looking for. This woman—anxious, restive, unhappy—she needs a soothing drink.
“Look, what if I get you a nice Mollify Milkshake?” I suggest. “It’ll calm you down—”
“You think I need calming down?” Her eyes emit blue sparks. Okay, not literally, but I could swear they’re glowing a bit. I have no idea what kind of supernatural she is, but I better not press my luck, even though my own patience is fraying dangerously thin.
I pitch the rag aside, plant both hands on the bar, and lean toward her. “Okay, fine. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
“The Wild Eye.”
Both my eyebrows shoot up. “That’s for feeling rage.”
“You’re a genius.” Her mouth twists sarcastically. “It used to be on the menu, but I don’t see it. I don’t see the Mocha Tristesse either.”
“I took them off. Nobody orders anger or sadness emotives.”
“Except me.Ido. I need them, and Lou used to make them for me, and I want him back.” Tears glitter in her eyes. Grief blended with despair.
I’ve been there. I know how it feels.
I try to gentle my tone. It’s tough; I’ve had the voice of a disgruntled bear ever since puberty. “Listen, I can make you a Wild Eye, if you’re sure that’s what you want. But I think the Angel Frappe or the Bay Luck Cocoa would do you more good right now.”
“You think you know best.” She sheds a beautiful smile over me, even as her eyes sparkle with violence and vindictive tears. “You don’t understand shit.”
Before I can say anything else, she’s off the stool, sweeping out the door, and marching away down the street.
I think about following her, but then Bob Cochran yells at me from the end of the bar. “Rick, I want another Stiff Breeze.”
“Two is enough, Bob,” I tell him. “Gotta pace yourself, remember. Drink too many of these, and you lose the ability to regulate your own emotions.”
“Spare me the side effects warning,” he drawls. “I used to hear it from Lou all the time.”
“Yeah? Did you ever listen to him?”
“Nah.”
“I figured.” I give him a half smile. “How about I get you a basket of fries instead, and then you can go take a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoy the sunset? The evening air will feel real good after those two Breezes.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
I kick the kitchen door open halfway and call back to Tae, the cook. “Basket of fries.”
“You got it,” he replies.
The bell jingles. My eyes snap to the door and my stomach flips over because for a second I think she’s back. But it’s just a family coming in for dinner.
Once I seat them and take their orders, the Toast & Tide gets so busy that I don’t have time to think about why my stomach flipped over like a caught fish at the idea of the black-haired woman walking back into my diner.
2
