“Nope.”
“Blessings on the witch who spelled this bracelet. How much did you pay him?”
I sigh and kiss the top of her head. “Not enough.”
We stay there for another hour, in a sort of daze of disbelief. Finally the cold breeze and the pain in our bodies remind us both that we are alive, that we are okay, and that we could use some shelter. We go down the fire escape carefully and return to the diner, where I take Marlowe into my apartment, into my bed.
I no longer have a phone—I have no idea what Valeria did with it—but I call Tae from Marlowe’s phone. I would have called him sooner, but I didn’t want to waste a second of what I thought would be my last night with her. It’s almost two in the morning now, but I call anyway, knowing that he has probably spent the day out of his mind with worry and anger.
The second Tae hears my voice, he starts shouting, half rage, half relief. “Where were you? I thought you died! I was about to call the police and report you missing!”
“I’m okay, Tae. But I almost wasn’t. I can’t talk long, man, because I need sleep, but I’ll tell you the gist of it as quick as I can and fill you in on the rest tomorrow.”
Marlowe falls asleep during the ten minutes I spend on the phone. Finally Tae lets me hang up, reassured that I was absent for good reason and that I’ll be up at five to help with prep for the day.
I fall back against the pillows, and I sleep.
The next few days are a blur of activity. Nothing could have prepared me for the madness of the diner during the music festival, and I’m barely hanging on. I’m so tired in the evenings that I can barely stay awake long enough to brush my teeth and crash into bed. Somehow I find a few spare minutes to order a new phone and start the insurance claim on my car.
Marlowe pops into the diner a few times throughout the weekend, her eyes bright and her tongue sharp. She teases me mercilessly, secures her emotive coffee, then breezes off to enjoy the festival with friends.
She doesn’t stay long, because she knows I’m busy and stressed out. But her brief appearances are like water to a thirsty man. They keep me going.
At last the festival is over, and the tourists leave town. Even if they want to visit again, they won’t find any accommodations available, except for during the very specific windows of time in which Crescent Cove allows outsiders to enter. No one can even find the road to this place unless the wards are opened or unless someone gives them a charmed object that allows them passage. This placeis sacred, and now that the droves of guests have left, it’s blessedly quiet.
I close the diner early Monday evening, giving Tae and the servers hefty bonuses as a thank you for all their help. Without them, I couldn’t have survived the weekend.
I leave the Toast & Tide by the front door, with my overnight bag in hand. The bell jingles for me, then quiets as I lock up. I turn, surveying the street and its quaint buildings, peach-pink in the glow of sunset. The water of the cove glistens in the distance, and gulls cry overhead.
I’m meeting Marlowe at a restaurant near the beach. We’re going to have dinner and go to a movie at the old theater here in town. Then I’m spending the night at her place. I’ve got some parsnips in my bag for Atreides. I’m looking forward to seeing him again. Maybe eventually he’ll let me ride him.
So far, the council hasn’t mentioned anything to Marlowe about an investigation. A few other incidents occurred over the weekend, and I’m pretty sure they’re too preoccupied with those events to worry about her. And if they ever do call her self-control into question, I’ll be right by her side to defend her if she wants me to.
My new phone starts playing some K-pop jingle. I just got it today, and I made the mistake of letting Marlowe set it up this afternoon while she sat at the bar, sipping her coffee. She must have added custom sounds.
I answer the call. “Hey sweetie, I’m on my way.”
“Good,” she replies. “I’ve got us the perfect table, with the best view. And I ordered the spinach-artichoke dip. How does that sound?”
“Like horse food,” I say wryly.
“You don’t like spinach?”
“Hate it. But if you like it, I’ll eat it every damn day.”
She chuckles. “No need. I’d just as soon have it all to myself. I’ll mark down ‘hates spinach’ on my list of things I’m learning about you. Is there an appetizer you’d rather have?”
I lower my voice as a pair of elderly ladies stroll past me. “The appetizer I want, I can’t eat until later.”
“Oh, you’re naughty,” she whispers. “Fine, I’ll get an order of crab cakes.”
“Perfect. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Hey Rick!”
“Yeah?”
