The Brotherhood of the Snake (Return of the Ancients Book 2) (26 page)

The walls were painted a warm chocolate color and covered with big paintings of red and yellow flowers. Blue, hand-blown glass lamps hung on their silver chains over brown-velvet overstuffed chairs grouped around sleek wooden coffee tables.

The espresso bar and glass pastry case were decked out in bright red holiday decorations, and an elegant flocked Christmas tree stood in the window under the red neon open sign.

I barely had time to savor the aroma of freshly ground coffee before Samantha swooped down on us.

“Today you’ll continue your practice in the fine art of cappuccino foam by using chocolate syrup to create butterflies,” she announced crisply. “I’ll have ten perfect butterflies out of each of you, or I won’t let you out of that door! You can practice until tomorrow morning if that’s what it takes!”

I gaped at her in terror.

But Ellison bowed. “As you wish, my lady,” he said in a thick British accent and added with an impish grin, “You’ll have your butterflies within the hour, in your stomach, if you so desire.”

Samantha’s eyes minutely crinkled in another smile. “I’m not sure what possessed me to hire you, cheeky boy! I must’ve been sick yesterday.”

She moved away to the opposite end of the counter to stack notebooks of pastry orders.

“Butterflies?” I mouthed to Ellison, setting my bag of beans down with a thump.

“After the Christmas wreath you pulled off last night, you should be able to do butterflies in your sleep!” he said. But a faint, puzzled line appeared between his brows.

Tearing open the bags of beans, he emptied them into the dispensers for the two baristas and then facing me, rubbed his hands in anticipation.

“You get the practice cups, and I’ll get the chocolate and toothpicks!” he said, looking downright eager to start.

I scowled.

Apparently, Brock hadn’t spared my job while trifling with my life. I was looking forward to confronting him.

“And you can make your own foam tonight,” one of the baristas informed us. “Don’t forget to hold the cup at the right angle when you froth it, that’s the trick!”

“And don’t forget to clean the nozzle this time, either!” the other barista snapped in a perfect imitation of Samantha’s gruffness, releasing a burst of steam through the espresso machine’s frothing wand to punctuate her statement.

They all snickered.

Even I couldn’t resist smiling.

A new customer arrived at the counter, asking for a scone and a latte.

I hung back uncertainly, wishing desperately that I knew what Samantha expected of me.

It didn’t take me long to find out.

Raising a sharp brow in my direction, she ordered brusquely, “Sydney, put the pastries in the bags tonight, just like you did last night.” She eyed me a moment before adding to Ellison, “And you can warm them up and hand the customers their drinks.”

Ellison bowed again, and Samantha gave a small humph of strangled amusement before returning to leaf through her pastry books.

Nervously, I grabbed the tongs and selected the scone. Normally, it wouldn’t have been any big deal to pick up a scone with tongs, but knowing I was being judged by Samantha made all the difference in the world.

My hands shook and I promptly squeezed it in half.

“Uh …” I smiled, rattled, feeling like an idiot and glanced guiltily over at Samantha.

I’d just been to Avalon and diverted Protectors with an armed Hello Kitty. Why did I find Samantha far more intimidating than tall, highly-skilled Fae guards trained to kill on sight?

Steeling my resolve, I gingerly picked up another scone and promptly put it on the piece of paper as Ellison whisked it away to be warmed in the convection oven.

Letting out a long sigh of relief, I quickly hid the broken scone under the bags. I’d choose that one as my free pastry for the day and let Samantha think that I’d intentionally broken it in half.

A few more people arrived and began queuing up in line.

After five minutes, I already knew that I hated being up front. I fervently hoped that each customer would just stick to ordering drinks, but they seemed to be a hungry bunch that evening.

Forcing a fake smile on my lips, I carefully selected whatever muffin, cookie, or donut they pointed to and turned it over to Ellison to bag or warm.

It wasn’t much of a job, and after about thirty minutes, I found myself mostly watching people, especially Ellison.

He was a natural with the customers. Slipping another scone into the convection oven, he smiled back over his shoulder at a chubby, middle-aged woman in scrubs. “Sorry it’s taking so long.” He gave her a gallant bow. “It’ll be done in 15 seconds.”

“No worries, young man.” She smiled at him warmly. “Take your time. I’m just on my way to work.”

“Ah, let’s make that done in 6,000 minutes, instead,” he suggested with an appealing grin.

They shared a laugh and the oven dinged.

“I’m sorry to give this to you so quickly, ma’am,” he said, handing her the warm pastry.

She laughed again, and Samantha looked over, practically beaming approval at Ellison. She watched the customer leave with a pleasant smile on her face as a portly, balding man accompanied by a frizzy red-haired woman holding a huge-eyed toddler stepped up to chat with Ellison and order lattes and hot chocolate.

After that, there was a lull in the flow of customers, so we practiced frothing milk in preparation for our cappuccino butterfly practice session.

I wasn’t looking forward to it, especially since I couldn’t make cappuccino foam to save my life.

As it turned out, Ellison was a master at frothing milk, whipping up mountains of foam with the ease of an artist.

“Hey, can you teach me how to do that?” I whispered my request.

“Well, look who’s here,” he replied softly, looking over my shoulder. “Thought he had a concert in L.A. tonight.”

I followed his gaze, surprised to see Jareth entering the coffee shop, wearing his trademark sunglasses, a black leather shirt with long laces randomly hanging from it, and a thick leather necklace that looked more like a collar. He’d fashioned his dark hair into a particularly wild style that practically obscured his face, a hairstyle designed to draw all eyes his way.

I rolled my eyes. He was obviously craving attention.

The coffee shop was only half full, but apparently there was enough of an audience for him to perform. With a loud, exaggerated sigh, he paused for dramatic effect before sprawling into a brown velvet chair by the window, his every move calculated to draw as many eyes his way possible.

A smattering of applause broke out. Apparently, we had a few Jareth fans hanging out.

I snorted in disgust as Jareth smugly shrugged with fake modesty.

Ignoring him, I glanced around, wondering where Rafael was. Surely, he’d come around soon, and that thought made my heartbeat pick up a little.

I firmly reminded myself that I merely wanted to know what our next move would be, but I knew I was lying.

I missed him. I just wanted to see him again.

And
then
I’d get down to the business of helping to trap the Tulpa and all the other things we needed to do.

“He’s so handsome!” one of Samantha’s baristas whispered to the other.

“He’s not really her boyfriend, right?” the other one asked.

I stifled a snort.

I didn’t know them very well. They usually worked mornings. I wanted to inform them that Jareth was a self-servicing jerk, but this time, I didn’t feel as strongly about it as I usually did.

I frowned, wondering what that meant.

Jareth chose that moment to saunter over and shamelessly flirt with the two baristas before approaching me. Leaning against the large glass case of pastries, he lifted his lip in a slight snarl of disapproval. “And the blueberry muffins? Where are they?”

The baristas clustered behind me and began to babble excuses, fluttering their hands.

“We’re out,” I informed him coldly, tapping the top of the counter with the tongs.

“Make some more then!” he retorted.

“Try something else.” I rolled my eyes at him. Selecting a pumpkin scone, I shoved it under his nose.

He grabbed it, broke it in half and popped an entire section into his mouth.

The baristas cooed and giggled.

I eyed him, a little vexed. Yes, he did have a bad-boy charm, but he just wasn’t my type.

I liked cool, sophisticated guys. Like Rafael.

I blushed a little at the thought.

“Nah,” Jareth said around a mouthful of scone. Tossing the remainder down onto the counter, he pronounced his judgment, “Not even close.”

“Then starve,” I said, putting the tongs away.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Jareth laughed and ordering a hot chocolate from Ellison, he shook hands with him and turned back to me. “You should hang around me more, Sydney. You could learn a lot.”

“Like what?” I asked acidly. “How to be the biggest jerk?”

“Ouch!” He laughed, feigning hurt feelings, and returned to his chair, crossed his legs, and slouched in his best rocker manner.

“He’s so cool!” One of the baristas giggled. “I think he’s wonderful!”

“And so does he,” I said in a cutting tone.

“You act so familiar with him,” she replied with more than a touch of jealousy.

The other barista just stared at Jareth with big doe eyes.

With a wicked grin, Jareth wiggled a brow at them and waved, knowing full well that it would practically send them into a swoon.

Ellison handed me his cup. “Here’s his hot chocolate,” he said.

“Go give it to him,” I grumbled. “That’s your job!”

“Nope!” Ellison grinned, patting his pocket. “Not with the bribe that I just got.”

I frowned at him. “I thought friends couldn’t be bought!”

“Whoever told you that?” Ellison laughed and as the front door opened, nodded towards the new customer. “I’m busy now, Sydney. Better give it to him while it’s still hot!”

I glanced at Samantha, but she was nose deep in her pastry orders. Scowling, I grabbed the hot chocolate and a packet of Equal and practically stomped my way over to Jareth.

He smiled and leaning back, propped his black leather boot on the coffee table.

At that, Samantha looked up from her pile of orders.

Her peripheral vision was amazing.

Peering at him from over the top of the reading glasses perched on her nose, she raised her brow a fraction of an inch.

Jareth didn’t miss her look.

“Dragon,” he hissed, immediately moving his foot as I set his cup down where it had been. “That woman has a mean temper. She’s the only human that I’ve come to fear.”

I grinned at that.

“Join me,” Jareth said, patting the chair next to him.

“You know I can’t.” I huffed in reply. “I’m working.”

I glanced quickly over my shoulder at Samantha, and satisfied that she wasn’t glaring at me yet, I leaned over and whispered, “What are we doing next? Where’s Rafael?”

His lips thinned as he smiled at someone behind me. “Well done, Brock, well done!”

I whirled to see Brock standing behind me, holding a bagel with a container of cream cheese.

“Have a seat!” Jareth invited, shoving a chair his direction with a booted foot.

As Brock sat down, I found myself suddenly ticked off.

“You’re such a troll, Brock!” The words burst out of my lips, much louder than I’d intended.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Samantha look up.

Brock appeared startled. A moment later, an expression of outrage suffused his fair face. “I beg your pardon? My blood is almost pure, tainted only by a single human, and that was over ten centuries ago! It’s
inconceivable
that I’d carry Troll genes in my blood!”

The conversations around us died immediately as many pairs of curious eyes looked our way.

But I found myself surprised at his words. Tainted by humans? The Fae had mingled with humans and produced hybrid children?

“Troll?” Jareth scoffed. “No one’s seen a troll for at least a century!”

“That’s not true!” a woman sitting at the next table leaned over to say. “There’s a troll under the Fremont Bridge!”

Both Jareth and Brock were clearly shocked.

I was just confused. She seemed so sincere. “A real troll?” I asked.

Laughter spread around us, several customers said ‘yes’, but the woman replied, “Of course not, dear! It’s a work of art.”

I felt foolish, but I took comfort in the fact that both Jareth and Brock appeared a bit humiliated themselves. They exchanged glances, and Brock quickly set about the business of eating his bagel. Snapping open the cream cheese, he ate it directly from the container with a plastic spoon.

It was a bit amusing. No matter how hard the Fae tried to fit in, they were always doing something wrong. I would have found it funnier if I hadn’t been so annoyed. “You’re just as bad as Jareth,” I hissed at Brock. “You messed with my schoolwork, and job, and not to mention Al!”

“And that is what you humans think are troll activities these days?” Brock was clearly dumbfounded.

“Apparently, she means a different kind of troll, Brock.” Jareth waved his hot chocolate but then growled under his breath, “Now I can believe
that
one has troll blood in her, don’t you think?”

I glanced back to see Samantha approaching.

“What’s the problem over here?” she asked Jareth with a sour look. “Sydney has other duties. You’ll get no special treatment here.”

The coffee shop door opened, heralding the arrival of new customers.

I was about to return to the counter and just let Samantha deal with Jareth’s obnoxiousness, when he glanced at the door and did a double take.

Thinking Rafael had arrived, I looked myself.

A tall leggy, blonde wearing a silver cocktail dress and red spiked heels had entered. She remained at the door, scanning the interior and overtly casing the place.

Frowning a little, Samantha went forward and asked, “Can I help you?”

The leggy blonde didn’t reply but touched her wrist.

I immediately recognized the golden bracelet of the Fae.

I sucked in a deep breath. Was she after us? Did she know we’d gone to the Hall of Mirrors?