Breathe, Sid. You need this job. You cannot go back to answering princess fan mail. Obsidian pulled the string from a woven sack, leaning forward to inhale the earthy aroma of the freshly roasted coffee beans. The familiar scent calmed her mind, granting her the peace to paste on her most professional smile and walk to the front counter. “I understand you have a complaint, sir?”
The elf glowered at her. The twisted scowl of his lips would have impressed the most belligerent troll despite the lack of tusks. Then he opened his mouth, and his high-pitched, whining voice cut through even the rush of the milk steamer, destroying the picture of righteous anger. “You cheated me this morning!”
Typical elfin prejudice. “I only just arrived on shift, sir.”
He squinted at her. “The fairy from this morning, then. It doesn’t matter; your shop cheated me.”
Obsidian met Tourmaline’s eye as she bent to spread a fluffy layer of chocolate frosting on a cupcake. The sprite shrugged, her expression quizzical.
Obsidian tightened the hold on her smile. “I’d be happy to handle any misunderstanding, sir.”
“Misunderstanding?” He slammed his briefcase on the counter, rattling the neat stacks of paper cups. “I ordered a peppermint latte with a double shot of charisma in preparation for a crucial interview. An easy task for a magic user. And I trusted your shop to deliver—walked into the office confident you’d provided the spell I requested. But did they offer me the position? No! They told me they’d decided on another, more magnetic candidate!”
I can’t imagine why. Grabbing a wooden sign from the side of the cash register, Obsidian placed it in front of him, pointing to the cheerful fairy caricature in the corner. “I’m truly sorry you didn’t get the job, sir. But, as any enhanced coffee shop will tell you, the results of magic aren’t guaranteed.”
The elf stared at the warning printed in looping chalk. His cheeks turned burgundy.
“Maybe not, but there’s at least a sensation of magic at work—assuming it’s done properly.” A fairy shoved forward, engendering protests from the line of waiting patrons as her wings heaved them aside. Her eyes blazed an electric blue as she thrust an empty coffee cup under Obsidian’s nose. “And a hazelnut cappuccino with a shot of personality should kick in within two sips!” Beige foam clung to the sides of the cup, along with traces of sweetened milk. “But my audition was an hour after I finished the cup, and I felt nothing.”
“And I’m guessing you didn’t get the part?” Tourmaline said, coming to stand beside Obsidian, offset spatula in hand.
“I didn’t even get a callback!”
“Two magic complaints in one day?” Tourmaline whispered.
“On it,” Obsidian muttered. Smiling as wide as possible, she shoved the sign back beside the register. “Would the two of you kindly give me a moment?”
Pushing past Tourmaline—“Cupcakes, anyone?” drifting over her shoulder—she ducked past the rows of coffee grinders, blenders, and espresso machines. A sugary cloud hung over the bottles of flavored syrups, making her back teeth ache as she reached behind them for a nondescript ceramic jar. Pulling the tiny key she’d retrieved from the office lockbox at the start of her shift out of her pocket, she popped the lock securing the lid. Staring inside, she frowned.
A few fragments of glittery dust.
But every last pixie crystal—gone.
This jar was half-full when I closed up last night. Magic brews were expensive. She rarely prepared more than three or four on a shift. And preparations required no more than two crystals at most, the glitter dissolving as the spell activated among the caffeine. Scentless, tasteless crystals.
Her stomach twisted.
She locked the jar and returned it to the counter, taking a deep breath. Only fairies had the inner magic reserve to work enhancing spells; there wasn’t enough demand to warrant more than one fairy per shift. Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to steal pixie crystals, Amethyst. She hurried into the staff room. A shimmering smear glinted cheerfully on the handle of a locker. Her heart dropped to the region of her feet as she read the name scrolled in chalk across the top. Amethyst worked the morning shift today.
A thundering roar shook the shop’s walls, banging lockers open and sending a box of cardboard sleeves onto Obsidian’s head. She rubbed the growing bump on her forehead, staring in disbelief at a crystal fragment in the bottom of Amethyst’s locker. When she lifted it, it clung to a napkin, a note scribbled across in sloping black ink.
Sid,
I figure you’ll be the one to figure this out and catch me—probably because no one else has the wings to deal with whiny customers. What can I say? All that magic within my grasp was too tempting to resist. And it’s not like it’s hard to drop pixie crystals in your apron pocket instead of a cup!
If you know what’s good for you, you’ll fly out of here—before it’s too late.
Catch you on the wind!
Ame
“Sid!” Tourmaline skidded into the room, the color leached from her cheeks. “There’s an ogre out there complaining about his order from this morning!”
Obsidian clenched her hand around the crystal fragment, closing her eyes. “Let me guess: He doesn’t think the magic worked.”
“A triple espresso with a shot of zen to get him through his court date.” Tourmaline’s voice shook. “Sid, he has half a manacle on his wrist!”
Of course. Why did I ever give up writing princess fan mail? Obsidian pushed herself upright, draping an arm around the sprite’s shoulders. She grimaced. “How many cupcakes do we have left, Mal?”
About the author:
Andria Kennedy could consider her various diagnoses (on the spectrum, fibromyalgia, depression, anxiety) as a hindrance, but she chooses to view them as superpowers fueling her writing drive. It’s an attitude supported by her four cats, greyhound, and Cavalier King Charles spaniel. (And a very wonderful husband) Her essays have appeared in PS, The Strategist, Electric Lit, HuffPost Personal, and others. Stories appear in Every Day Fiction and the Existential Hologram (Starry Eyed Press), Song of the Siren (Dragon Soul Press), and Year Six (forthcoming from Black Hare Press) anthologies.
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