Spring Rain (The Witchling #4)(4)

Glaring at Decker’s response, she had to force herself not to send him an angry response. He was the brother of the man she cared about and had helped her, albeit reluctantly.

Maybe we could use the soul stone to capture Bartholomew, he texted next.

“That’s it, Decker.” Morgan sent him a scathing response and tapped send, not caring if she pissed him off. The stone had been in her family for a thousand years. If it was meant to be used, it wouldn’t be a secret! And the best – and only thing – she knew to do to protect Beck and help him with the Light was to keep as far away as possible.

“Red, you’re up!” called a smiling brunette from behind the counter.

Red was her nickname, and she’d made up a name for her employment forms. Irked, Morgan stood and tucked her phone away before approaching. The barista just leaving her shift handed over an apron, and Morgan tied it around her waist before placing her fiery red hair into a ponytail.

Not patient enough for customer service, she took up her position at the espresso machine and breathed in the stimulating, rich mix of coffee and milk. It had quickly become her favorite scent and clung to her when she left her shift every day. Her hair smelled of espresso no matter how many times she washed it.

“Hey, Red.” The guy at the drive thru window called to her. “Someone came by earlier looking for you.”

“One of my customers?” she asked, wiping down the machine. There were at least fourteen people who came in periodically and requested her, which was five times as many as any other barista who worked at the cafe. She suspected her fire magick added a little more warmth or kick to their drinks, because she followed the drinks’ preparation instructions exactly.

“No.” He rolled his eyes as he joined her.

She glanced up, then away quickly. Before Beck, she never would’ve thought she’d meet another man’s gaze let alone take a chance on anyone, given her history of abuse at the hands of her uncle. After Beck, all she could think about was never letting down her guard again, that the emotional pain caused by losing him was much worse than the physical pain inflicted by her uncle.

“Real pretty blonde lady. Looked like a model. Pregnant.”

Dawn.

Morgan’s hands paused in her cleanup duty. It’s not possible. As far as she knew, no witchling could track her. She was neither Light nor Dark but stuck between, which meant neither Beck nor Decker was able to trace her. Add to that the fact she had successfully faked her own death, was in a different state and never wore the cloudy amulet marking her as a witchling, it seemed impossible for anyone to have discovered where she was hiding out.

Reminding herself of this, she began working again.

“Said she’d be back later,” Stu added. “You, uh …” he lowered his voice and looked around. “… you know. Think about maybe going out with me this weekend?”

“Nope,” she replied firmly. “As usual.”

“Puh-lease? Even to help me win the pool? I know I’m your favorite.”

She pinned him with a cold look.

“Okay, so your least un-favorite,” he added hopefully.

“Nope. Your light’s on.” She motioned to the flickering red light at the window indicating someone was waiting.

“I’ll ask again next week,” he said with a grin.

Stu was a nice guy, attractive and nowhere near as interesting to her as she was to him. Morgan checked out the gaggle of three guys near the drive thru. Stu was apparently reporting back his failure, and the others were laughing.

“I don’t think their pool is funny,” said Rosy, another coworker. “Very misogynistic to bet on a girl going out with them.”

“They’re idiots,” Morgan agreed. “I’m here for the paycheck and nothing else.”

“Out of curiosity, do you swing the other way?”

Startled, Morgan met Rosy’s gaze. “Um, no.”

“Just not interested in guys? Or friends? Or hanging out?”

What is wrong with these people? She almost spoke the words out loud before recalling how different she was from a typical teenager. Stu, Rosy and the rest of them weren’t worrying about protecting the world from a piece of pure evil that could easily destroy them.

They were concerned about … dating. Clothes. Sports. College.

It was a mentality Morgan didn’t really understand, but she also knew she was the odd one out, not them. She hadn’t fit in among the witchlings and she didn’t fit in here, either.

I hate my life, she thought bitterly.

“Not right now,” she said in as pleasant of a voice as she could manage. If she’d learned anything working around humans, it was to be nicer, because they had no freaking clue. “Did they ask you to ask me?”

“No. Just curious. You’ve worked here for over two months, and no one knows anything about you.” Rosy shrugged. “Except that every customer on the planet loves you.” She rolled her eyes.

“I share my tips,” Morgan said, aware of how awkward it was sometimes when another barista was on the machine when one of her regular customers came in.

“We love you for it.” Rosy grinned, her eyes falling to someone entering the café. “I’m up!” She went to the cash register.

Morgan’s gaze swept out over the clientele currently in the café. Even if she didn’t think it likely someone had found her, she wasn’t able to shake the unease agitating her fire magick. A spark smacked into the metal machine and fizzled out, and she blinked, reigning in her magick.