Where Devils go to Party (Winterwood Witches #1)

Chapter 4: Deadly Delivery

I slid down in my chair, laying my head against the dark wood of the counter, and stared at Shauna dressed in her black knee-length skirt and polo shirt as she puttered around fulfilling orders behind the bar. Watching her brew complex coffees with near supernatural precision — seriously, she barely even glanced at the multiple hanging dockets — I let out another sigh at my universal irrelevance to the café.

The warm afternoon sunlight floating in through the thinly frosted glass rimmed with deep purple filigree coupled with the constant clanging of delicate china and polished cutlery filling the air made me feel like a big sleepy cat. The heady scent of roasted coffee and fresh baked cakes did nothing to improve my energy. I cast my eyes around the room, taking in the polished wooden furniture covered in thick black cloth beneath delicate glass chandeliers hiding modern electrical fixtures. For being mid-afternoon on a weekday, the place was already bustling. Several regulars were scattered among the tables of the rich Victorian decor, not that any of them would have the slightest clue who I was even if I wanted to talk to them. Mixed in were the usual crowd of randos who wandered in because they liked the aesthetic. Every now and then a waitress in a black Winterwood uniform would dart across my vision to deliver their orders.

I was soooooooooo bored.

After that mess the night before, I'd seriously been dreading a lecture from Bianca, but she wasn't at the café. I'd spent the whole night waiting for her to appear and tear into me with no result — I would have preferred if I could just get it out of the way then though. It wasn't like I could do anything until then, so it left me with nothing to do but wait. I let out another sigh. Again.

"So, are you planning to order something or what?" Shauna flashed me a sly smile as she leaned against the shiny new coffee machine that looked so out of place in this dungeonesque theme of the room.

"Kill me," I murmured.

"You really need to learn how to sit still." She laughed, sliding a cup smelling of hazelnut in front of me. "Isn't part of your job to wait and—"

"About bloody time, you damn idiot!" an obnoxious scream burst through the cafe's peaceful tranquillity. "You sure took your time, I think we're deserving of a little... compensation."

I swung my head around in time to see the source of the commotion reach out and slap his hand across the arse of a nervous-looking girl in a black Winterwood uniform. She stumbled forwards and bashed into the table, sending the platter of food she was carrying crashing to the floor.

"Way to go, clutz. Can't you do anything right?" the man with greasy, rust-coloured hair barked while his broad-faced friend seated across from him brayed with hilarity.

"I'm-m s-sorry," the girl squeaked, trying to stumble away from the fuming guest, only for him to grab her roughly by the arm.

"That bastard," Shauna growled under her breath.

I turned my attention back to her and saw Shauna squeezing the nozzle of the coffee machine hard enough I could hear the metal shrieking. Blistering water was running across her palm, but she didn't even seem to notice. Her eyes locked on the man with such intense fury that even I didn't dare to breathe at the moment.

"That device will be coming out of your paycheck," a silvery voice like the sound of mellow bells said firmly.

Shauna jumped backwards, her anger vanishing into a look of sheer panic, with her arms raised.

A tall, spindly woman with dark cinnamon-coloured skin stood looking down at us, seeming to have appeared directly out of thin air, with fierce cat-like emerald eyes. As those eyes pulled me into her gaze, I could see flecks of gold glittering deep within the green. The delicate folds of the long, flowing red and black gown draped over her slender body made it look like she had stepped out of a Baroque painting. From the smoothness of her skin she could have been anywhere in her early thirties, but I knew that was nowhere near her real age. I once tried asking just how old she was, and I learned the hard way that it was a touchy subject. In her right hand was an intricate silver tipped cane that still made me wince.