Page 17 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
Disheartened, she left the Kith shelter and dragged her waytoward the distant commuter lot. If she was going to stick it out in hopes of amatch, she needed a long-range plan. Staying with Uncle Abel and Aunt Hiro kepther expenses low, but by mid-winter, Melissa would have to pay another sizablefine.
Maybe she should look for work.
Melissa had already memorized the roads and alleys, more outof habit than anything, but now she turned her attention to the businesses. Overwhelmedby the array, she reviewed her options and reluctantly selected the mostefficient path to success.
She called her father.
Twenty minutes later, Melissa stood at the corner ofFourth and Founders, staring up at an imposing three-story building. Built frombrick and old-fashioned stonework, it took up the entire block. Her father hadgiven her the name and address of the simplest entrance into the urban enclave.Belatedly, she thought she could have found the place on her own. Thebuilding’s ornamentation was surprisingly revealing.
Scrollwork and oak leaves shaded clusters of acorns, and carvedsquirrels scampered along ledges or clung to eaves. Pheasants swooped overwindows, and wolves crouched in niches. The only thing keeping it frombetraying its residents was the fact that all the buildings this close to thecampus boasted similar decorations.
The few enclaves she’d visited before had built a way oflife around farming, mining, or an assortment of artisan crafts—pottery, carving,weaving, glass-blowing. Urban enclaves were more daring, interacting to agreater degree with the surrounding human community. One enclave had becomeworld-famous as chocolatiers, and she knew of a group of Dimityblest designerswhose line of specialty papers could be found in any craft store.
She never would have expected Amaranthine to run a coffeeshop.
Pushing through wide, brass-fitted front doors, Melissapaused to marvel at the spaciousness of Founders Coffee Shop. From what shecould see, it took up more than half of the building’s first floor. Booths,tables, a long bar fitted with charging stations. Along one interior wall, glassdoors allowed peeks into private rooms for study groups and tutoring sessions. Darkwood, antique brass, and beveled glass—everything about the décor belonged in aprevious century.
It was busy, with the buzz of conversation, the hiss ofsteam, and the cheerful call of names as orders were filled. Of course, thebest feature of any coffee shop had to be the pervasive fragrance.
Melissa found the ambiance at once relaxing and invigorating.
Countertops were marble, and glass display cases featured atempting array of baked goods. Deep shelves lined the wall behind the frontregister, where stacks of white ceramic cups encouraged customers to sit andstay, not grab and go. Students had flocked to generously wide tables. Thesound of turning pages and tapping keys came from every side. Founders wasclearly set up to encourage gathering and study, like an unofficial studentcenter.
One with a secret.
She could feel the wards, and she knew on an instinctuallevel that there were Amaranthine close by. What surprised her was that all thecustomers were from the general populace. They had no idea that the so-called werewolvesthey feared might well be serving their shots of espresso.
Behind the counter, a black gentleman in a crisp white shirtand dark vest added a swirl of cream to a glass of iced coffee. His co-worker,a much younger man with the same bowtie and name badge, was dusting the foamingtops of three deep-bowled cups with powder.
Melissa queued up behind three girls who whispered, giggled,and called out to the younger man. He cheerily returned their greetings, and heknew all their names. Quite the personal touch.
When her turn came, the young barista slowly straightened,as if to prove his superior height—a scant inch or so. This was the sort ofposturing adolescent wolves were known to use when meeting. Did that mean hewas a member of the Nightspangle pack? If so, the illusion protecting hisidentity was perfect.
“Well,hellothere.” His ancestry was Asian, but hisaccent was all-American. The name engraved on his golden badge was Jiminy. “Pardonme.” Planting one hand on the counter, he reached for her hair. Even as shepulled back, he retreated, a piece of straw between thumb and forefinger. Hetook a conspiratorial tone. “Somebody’s been behind wards today!”
She made a discreet hand sign, confirming what was apparentlyobvious. To him. Much to Melissa’s consternation, she couldn’t tell if Jiminywas a reaver or an Amaranthine. But at least she knew she was dealing withanother Betweener.
“May I ask you a personal question?” His tone was soft andlight, his smile reassuring. “Your hand.”
Melissa belatedly offered her palms, thinking he wanted aformal greeting.
“Just this one.” Jiminy took her by the wrist and pulled hercloser. His thumb slid over her pulse point, and he leaned in. The light brownfringe of his bangs fell into his eyes, and he shook them aside. “How many waysare you warded? Let me guess—blue, green, and … feels pink.”
“What?”
Another gentle tug, and he was pointing to her forearm or,more specifically, to the cuff hidden by her sleeve. “You’re packing crystals. CanI have a peek?”
He crossed a line by slipping his fingers under the cloth,questing upward. A moment later, she had the offending hand twisted and pinnedto cold stone. The angle forced him down, and she reinforced her objection bypushing his head until his cheek met marble.
“Ow.”
Melissa’s face flushed, and she checked to see if anyone hadnoticed her manhandling the barista. Both Mom and Magda had been thorough andcreative in teaching her ways to dissuade unwanted masculine attention.
The other barista stepped up. “I do beg your pardon, miss. Didhis antics unsettle you?” Pressing one large hand to the back of Jiminy’s head,his voice deepened to a growl. “Heknowsbetter.”
Jiminy whined, “Sorry, Rook.”
“Iam not the one you should be apologizing to.”
